Exploding Flames 2: Burning Emotions
by Punk19
Summary: A young boy finally starts to realise his mistakes and starts to respect his father.
1. Part 1: The Aftermath

Looking out the window, watching the trees and the livestock flow by, Four Way Shot sighed. Sitting alongside him was his brother, Arson, and sitting directly in front of them were their father's. Four Way Shot's leg was in a heavy cast, his father had personally medicated and bandaged it, all the while giving him looks of disgust and anger, and he had been grounded until it healed. Arson hadn't spoken to his father at all since they had boarded the train, his flamethrower was wrapped tightly but it was still broken, his father had told him earlier that it had to be totally repaired.

"Here you go sir," the server said. "will there be anything else?"

"Nah, thanky though."

Watching the server, a pretty blonde woman of thirty with green eyes, serve his father a tray of food made him hungry. Since his father and his uncle had found him and his brother they hadn't had a single thing to eat. They had seen their father's drink a little and then throw the cups to the side angrily but nothing else. Seeing his father pass his uncle a piece of meat made his stomach growl, he hoped that they couldn't hear it.

"You hungry?" Arson whispered.

"Yeah, shur am." Four Way Shot mumbled.

His uncle had shaked his head, declining the offer of the meat so Four Way Shot's father was eating it in front of him. Turning his head and looking out the window again, he saw that they were passing by a pasture of cows. He saw black and white and brown cows and a few black bulls, no calves. Thinking back to his father's ranch he remembered the three cows that had calved a few months back, there were three more due within the next few months.

"Pa," he said, swallowing hard. "I gotta go potty."

"Thar's one 'cross from our room." his father said, eying him.

Sliding himself from the cushion, favoring his leg a little, he walked towards the door. Sliding it open and stepping out he smelled the fresh air that was seeping in through the door which was open a little. Not really intending to use the bathroom, his leg was itchy and he didn't feel like embarrassing himself by scratching it in front of his father, he knew that his father would bark out _don't scratch_ if he did.

"Wish I would o' never left mah home." he thought.

A few hours after they had been whipped both of their father's thoroughly checked them over. He had discovered that he had done a lot more damage to his leg, he had fractured the lower part and the bone in his knee and foot were bruised. Arson had fared a little better regardless of him ranting about his broken flamethrower. He had ranted enough and his father had thrown the bandages down and had yelled that once he was home he'd find someone to fix it just to shut him up. They had spent two nights in a hotel and had left at six to catch a train that would take them back home seven hours ago. Hearing a knock on the door he unlocked it and opened it, standing out was his father.

"Whut's a-takin' ye so long?" his father asked.

"Jus' usin' the potty is all." he said, rolling his eyes.

"Ye wasn't a-scratchin' yerself was ye?" his multi armed hissed, wrapping an arm around him.

"No pa," he said, leaning against his father. "I wasn't."

Letting his father walk him back to the room and letting him slide him back in his place on the cushion, he remembered that time that he had come home with the Mountain Lion skin, the back of his shirt all the way open and himself dripping blood. The caretakers had been worried, it had been his father that had completely made a scene, grabbing his Winchester Model 1873, dropping the bullets all over the place then throwing it down and grabbing him by the shoulders. It had been scary, he had felt that his father was going to start shaking and cussing at him, instead he had told him that if he ever saw any trace of the animal, spore or prints or fur, to get the hell home.

"I s'pose yer a-hungry." his father said, sliding the tray over the table at him.

"Thanky!" Four Way Shot exclaimed, jumping up a little.

Arson had turned his head a little, eying his brother as he ate the meat and the fruit on the tray. He was extremely hungry but he didn't want anyone to know. He continued to look at his father, one of his eyes had a crack in it from a rock hitting it when he had fallen and the bandage on his arm was heavy, it was so heavy that he couldn't lift it. Making a sound in his throat he turned away and looked out the coach door's window.

"I'm going to make a phone call," his father said, standing up and stretching. "watch the kid."

"The usual with you." Arson muttered.

"Excuse me young man," his father said, eyes glowing brightly. "what'd you say?"

"I said, the usual with you." Arson repeated, louder for everyone to hear.

Not looking at his father he didn't notice that he had walked towards him a few steps then stopped. His father's eyes were bright red for a few seconds then dimmed down. Four Way Shot was still eating, but he was staring at his uncle, fearful of what he'd do. All his uncle did was shrug his shoulders and walk out of the coach, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone all the way. His uncle cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee gently.

"Son, ye an' I both don't think that o' yer pa." he said. "He's a good pa to ye."

"Yeah right!" Arson yelled. "If he's such a great dad then why does he throw me off on someone else and why the hell does he yell at me all the time? Sounds like a great dad!"

"Have ye ever thought he a-yells at ye fer a reason?" his uncle asked. "He may seem to be bad an' all but really all he's a-thinkin' of is ye."

Kicking his leg, making his uncle's hand slide from his knee, Arson felt like snorting smoke from his nose. He didn't believe a thing his uncle had told him, he believed that his father really wanted to be rid of him. He remembered the one time when he had gotten caught with a paper, a wrapper from a chocolate bar, in his pocket. His father had started yelling and had acted like he was going to smack him a few times. After that incident he had started sneaking away his father's cigars and had collected every wrapper that had came from the chocolate bars he had eaten. He had even shared one of the cigars with his brother one day after lunch by the old rusty car.

"I suggest ye talk to yer pa," his uncle was saying. "I think ye two need to git a few thangs straight."

Flashing his eyes and shaking his shoulders a little, Arson leaned back into the seat. He didn't intend to speak to his father, he felt that it would be no good. His father never had listened to him, it seemed that all he ever wanted to do was spend time away from him, the only time he and his father were around each other was when he was in trouble and needed discipline. Pulling his jacket around himself, making a blanket out of it, he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, you, wake up!"

Shrugging his shoulders and drawing his jacket around himself tighter, Arson totally ignored his father. He could see that his brother was in his uncle's lap, still sleeping soundly. His uncle had two of his six arms around him, holding him close, and another of his hands was checking his leg. There were tissues on the table and a half empty box of tissues sitting beside his uncle, he thought that his brother had gotten the sneezes, their coach wasn't the warmest one in the train and air leaked in through the window. His father was standing beside him, his hand on his shoulder.

"Wake up!" his father yelled.

Four Way Shot shot up from his father's shoulder and would have fallen if his father hadn't of had two of his arms around him. Looking up at his father he felt a slight smile tug at his mouth, he had gotten a case of the sneezes a few hours ago and had started crying because the pain medication had worn out on his leg. It had hurt, he had had to be pulled up on his father's lap. After a few minutes he had calmed down, all the way his uncle had been eying him, still angry at him for running away and angry at his father for softening up.

"I'm up," he yelled. "sheesh can't a boy get some sleep around here!"

His father pulled his hand off of his shoulder, pulling the jacket with him almost all the way off of his body. He had surprised him by saying that he had brought a bag of clothes with him and had told him to get the rags off of his body and to get in them. He had had to tear the jacket away from his father when he had gotten him to the hotel.

"No dad!" he had said. "I've grown rather fond of my attire and you aren't going to deprive me of it!"

"You'll either take what you are wearing off on your own or I'll tear it off of you." his father had said, his hand in a fist.

"Come on dad!" he yelled. "For once in my life, let yourself go, let me have what I am wearing."

"Remove what you are wearing," his father had said. "go take a shower or bath or whatever you do to get clean and the clothes will be here when you get back."

He had taken a bath, his usual, he was a little too short to take a shower like his father did, and when he had gotten out his father had been sitting in a chair drinking an orange drink and two sets of clothing had been set on the bed. Once he had set foot in the room, his chest and shoulders exposed, all burned, his father had hit the roof.

"What the hell happened to you?" he had asked.

"Nothing that you should know." Arson growled.

"I think I should," his father had said, sliding forward in the chair. "what happened to you?"

"I had an accident," he had growled. "nothing to warrant a reaction from you."

"Young man!" his father yelled, pushing himself from the chair hard enough for it to fall back. "Let me see your shoulders."

He had turned around and had opened the towel around him then had closed it, his father had opened his mouth, surprised, then had rushed forward and had grabbed him. He had fought him a little, not much as his father had wrapped his hand around his arm. A few seconds of fighting then he had been pulled around facing his father, who had pulled the towel down to his waist, tying it around his waist. His father's red eyes had shown brightly and he had started wheezing and growling at the same time.

"You say it was nothing but an accident. "his father had said. "Looks to me like you've burned a good lot of your body."

"Why do you care?" Arson spat. "You never have!"

"Unbeknown to you I do care son!" his father had said into the side of his head.

His father had checked him all over and had applied some medicine to the still unhealed wounds and the bruises and scrapes to his legs. Then he had helped him get dressed, something he had never done, only it had been the other set of clothes, the ones that he had been wearing the day he had left home. The brown jacket, gray long sleeve button up shirt, blood red almost black pants and boots. He had gone for the second set of clothes, the clothes that he had worn when his father found him. The black leather jacket with the red leather interior, the red shirt, black pants and the black boots with the chains on the side.

"You can wear the jacket," his father had said. "the rest you cannot."

"And exactly why the hell can I not wear what I was wearing before?" he had screamed.

"Boy, let me ask you one question." his father had said, almost calm. "Are you stupid or just plain stubborn?"

"I'm neither!" he had yelled.

"Then you and I both know that that set of clothes is dirty and needs to be cleaned."

His father preferred to call him boy or just plain kid, he really wondered if he knew his name. He had given him it but not once had he called him it in almost three years. He had placed the clothes his father had set out for him on then had climbed into bed, like his father had told him, only he had dragged the jacket with him, fearful of what his father would do to it, he had broken his flamethrower and he didn't want to wake up to see his new jacket in shreds on the floor.

"I think four hours is enough." his father said.

"I was asleep for four hours?" Arson asked, yawning a little. "The usual is eight."

"When you are asleep at night," his father said, leaning low over him. "the sleep you just had was equal to two naps."

"Oh like you know!" he screamed, throwing his jacket to the side and pushing his father.

"Arson!"

Pulling his head to the side, Arson saw that his uncle was up, his brother was on the seat with his leg up. His uncle walked towards him and placed his arm between his father and he. A few seconds later he was pulling his father away. His uncle was wearing a white long sleeve button up shirt, a brown vest over it housed two holisters and two Colt .64's, and a pair of blue jeans, a black belt held them up and it housed four more holisters and four more Colt .64's, he had black cowboy boots on his feet, gold spurs behind them, and a black cowboy hat, a red kerchief was tied around his neck. He and his uncle had a good relationship, he'd hang around his uncle a lot more than his own father because he didn't yell at him or put him down. One time when he had walked in on his uncle playing baseball with his brother he had been allowed to join, he had had to be taught how to swing a bat the right way since the method he had used was what his uncle had called the chopping wood style.

"I think ye should leave yer young un' alone." his uncle said.

"Do you not remember our little agreement about leaving the responsibility of ones son to his own father?" his father said.

"I do yes," his uncle said. "an' I a-think this is good enuff time fer me to a-step in."

"In other words," his father said, balling his hand into a fist. "you are breaking our agreement."

"Yes," his uncle said, stepping between Arson and his father. "I is."

His father and his uncle were brothers, not of blood but brothers nonetheless. He had seen his father and uncle fight once before, it hadn't been pretty but it had been interesting to watch, that was until his muscular uncle picked him up and relocated him to a different room. His father lunged at his uncle and grabbed him by the wrist, twisting it behind his back. His uncle yelled in pain and swiped at his father with one of his free hands, catching him in the jaw and in the stomach. His brother was sitting up tall and was asking for them, begging for them, to stop. Turning his head slightly, intending to tell his brother to shut up, he didn't see the fist heading for him.

Four Way Shot sat up straight, his leg hurt and he felt like crying again. Opening his mouth he started screaming for his father and uncle to stop. He didn't like seeing his father fight, especially when it was his fire uncle that he was fighting against. Feeling his shirt tug he turned half of his body around, the nail by the window had snagged his sleeve. Pulling it out and turning around he saw his uncle swing a fist at his father. Screaming at the top of his lungs for his father to duck, he slipped and fell off of the seat, when he hit the ground he screamed even louder.

Arson wasn't quick enough, once his brother screamed out his uncle turned towards him, opening an area for his father to punch not himself but to swing his fist at his son. It hit him in the shoulder, right where one of his still unhealed burns was. Doubling over, screaming and crying himself, he saw his father back up a step, his flamethrower raised a little and his eyes flashing on and off.

"Ye see whut ye do!" his uncle was saying. "Ye git the young un's all worked up an' they a-git hurt!"

"Oh shut up!" his fiery father said. "They'll be fine in a few minutes."

Sliding into his seat, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a cigar and a magazine about forest fires, Arson saw that his father showed no remorse or care for what he had done. His shoulder seemed to be doing more screaming for him, his father had a really hard punch and it felt like he had done more damage to his shoulder. He wished he had use of his flamethrower, he'd of flamed the cigar and the magazine from his father's hand if he did.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't see why he couldn't stay his ass in here." Arson growled, punching the seat.

"I guess he's a-busy tryin' to git thangs straight." Four Way Shot said, sighing and shaking his head.

"Busy doing what? Getting my torture chamber ready!"

Looking at his brother jump up and down on the seat made him feel nervous, his father and his fire uncle had left half an hour ago to get something, they had said nothing about what it was or how long it'd take them to get back. It was seven in the morning, Arson had been pushed from the train when it had driven into the station and he had been carried, his leg was hurting so much that he could hardly stand much less walk.

"They's prolly jus' havin' problems." he said, leaning back a little.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Arson yelled. "You've broken your leg and your father has decided to go easy on you because of it."

"No, I ain't enjoyin' this," Four Way Shot exclaimed, shooting up from the bed. "I would ver much like to git up an' walk a little."

"And I'm sure that if you could your father would still be soft on you." Arson said, close to tears. "Man, you're stuck with a nice dad and I'm stuck with....him!"

Looking at his brother from top to bottom Four Way Shot understood where he was coming from. Even he had problems when it came to his uncle. Several times he had walked in on his uncle and had been yelled at for no apparent reason. It was probably one of the many reasons why his brother prefered to hang around either just him or him and his father. At times when his father wasn't around they hung around their muscular uncle, they were very close to him.

Hearing a click both boys turned around, they were in a rather large room which had cost their father's a lot of money. According to his father, they were to stay in this room for three days and two nights, waiting for the next available train to take them back to their home. Beside's the bed, of which Four Way Shot had been placed on when they had first walked in, there was a small fridge and a couch and a small chair, a window allowed them to look outside. The carpet was red and the walls and ceiling was white.

Hearing a click both boys turned around, they were in a rather large room which had cost their father's a lot of money. According to his father, they were to stay in this room for three days and two nights, waiting for the next available train to take them back to their home. Besides the bed, of which Four Way Shot had been placed on when they had first walked in, there was a walk through kitchenette with a fridge and stink along with a toaster oven, microwave, cookware and dinnerware and a coffeemaker, there was a table in the room with two chairs. A red chair was beside the bed.

"All this trouble for just one small package," his father complained. "I thought you had more upper body strength."

"I do bro," his uncle said. "this thang is a-heavy fer such a small box."

"It was all me lugging the thing up the stairs man!" his father said.

"Torch, ye gotta calm yer ol' butt down," his uncle said. "if not fer yerself then do it fer yer young un'."

Arson was looking at the box in his father's and uncle's hands, it wasn't all that big, neither was it all that small either. More like in the middle. He saw from the corner of his eye that his brother was also looking at the box. He could tell that he was also wondering what was in it. He hoped it wasn't another attempt of his father's to get rid of the clothes that he had been wearing before.

"Pa," he heard his brother call.

"Hold on jus' one second son." his father said.

"Whut's in the box pa?" his brother asked, ignoring what his father had said.

"Nothing you need to know!" his uncle exclaimed.

Setting the box on the floor at the foot on the bed, Torch picked his head up, his eyes were just above the covers and he was staring at his nephew who was pulling back some. His nephew was wearing a brown button up long sleeve shirt, a dark brown vest over that housed two Colt .64's, and black jeans, a black belt held them up and it had two more holisters that housed two more Colt .64's. He had black boots on his feet, gold spurs behind them, a brown cowboy hat and a brown kerchief around his neck, it was of the same design as his father's. At times he really wondered why his brother had allowed for his son to dress almost exactly like himself, it was really confusing at times.

"Lets just say we asked for some food items and they arrived an hour after we got here." his uncle said.

"Whut kind o' food items?" his four armed nephew asked.

"The kind you eat." Torch said, frustrated.

"Food items ye an' yer bro will like." his father said, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. "Ye lie back now, git some rest."

He really didn't understand how his brother was so calm in a situation like this, he believed that he was doing a better job. Thinking back to a few weeks ago, he remembered going into his son's room intending to both talk and tuck him in in secrecy, he didn't know what time his son fell asleep but he knew that around ten he'd walk in to see his son, the blankets half thrown off of the bed and himself almost out of bed asleep. That night he had expected to see the same but instead, he had seen a fully made bed and the window to his son's room fully open, his son not in the room.

"Six Shooter!" he had yelled. "Is my kid downstairs?"

"No, he a-should be up thar in his room." his six armed brother had said, pulling the magazine he was reading down a little.

"Well he's not," he said, walking down a few of the steps. "not in his bathroom either."

"Did ye check yer room?"

He had raced to his room and had thrown the door open, his room was totally off limits to everyone, including his son. He had had to get the lock changed several times after discovering that his son had disobeyed him and had gone into his room, he didn't know why but he had found the top drawer of his dresser open twice and had found several of his cigars missing, he had written it off and said that he must have smoked them. When he had found his room unoccupied he had ran back into his son's room and had poked half of his body out the window, thinking that his son was sitting on the roof looking at the stars.

"He's not in my room and he's not on the roof." he said, running down the stairs.

"Alrighty," his brother has said, pushing himself up and grabbing his arm. "calm yerself, whar else could yer young un' be?"

He had searched the whole house for his son, the kitchen and the laundry room, the living room, he had searched through everyones rooms without finding his son, even the caretakers rooms and the attic. When he had finished searching the house he had gone outside and checked the barn, the chicken house, the pig pen, he had looked everywhere. At eleven he had stopped by the flower vine, when he had pulled out a cigar he had noticed a small puddle of blood by his boot. He had remembered the fight and what his son had said on the way up and had stormed back inside, almost running into Six Shooter who was on his way out.

"He's not out there," he had said, growling. "I believe he ran away."

"Ye shur?" his brother had asked, stunned. "Are ye one hunert percent shur?"

"I recall him saying that he was going to run away."

He had raced up to his room and had grabbed his cell phone and a small device that the humans had called a tracker. He had made a point to make the humans sew a tracking device in all of his son's jackets, the jacket that his son had been wearing was a new one and he had gotten one of the devices sew into it a few days ago. He was sure that it was working fine.

"You have no idea how worried I was when I found that you wasn't in your room," he said, turning his head towards his son. "you just have no fucking idea."

"Yeah, I can just about imagine what happened. "Arson huffed. "You probably just looked then went back to whatever it was you was doing before you saw that I wasn't in my room."

"No, son," he said, he was walking towards Arson slowly. "I did not, I started searching the whole damn house, then everything outside."

"You think I'm going to believe a thing you say? It was probably my uncle that made you start searching." Arson said, taking a step back. "Go smoke a cigar, leave me alone."

The chair was right beside him so he sat down in it, he had no idea why his son revered him in this way. Whenever he had tried reaching out to him he had pulled away. The one time that stuck out well was when he had brought him some soup and had pulled the blanket over him when he was sick, he had left the room for a few minutes and when he returned the blanket was off and the soup was sitting on the floor, untouched, his son had been lying on his side, his side slowly rising, he had thought that he had fallen asleep. The day afterwards he had tried feeding him, his son had told him that he could do it and that he wanted to be left alone. He had done just that.

"Son," he said. "we're going to get a few things straight right now."

The incident when he had had to pull his son from the train came to his mind. There had never been a time where his son had started screaming for someone to help him, he had caused everyone in the station to look at them, very embarrassing yet it made a red light pop up in his head. He had had to push his son off of the trains steps, he had plopped down on the ground hard and started crying for someone to help him, it had gotten a lot of humans attention. All the way through the station he had carried his son by the waist, all the while his son had been crying and screaming for someone to help him. Six Shooter had followed behind him closely, his son resting in his arms, both of their cheeks rose red from embarrassment. When they had gotten into the cab he had plopped his son beside him, the cabby had turned around and had taken one long look at them before asking where they wanted to go. He had told him to take them to the Homelife Studio and Suites hotel, one of the top-rated hotels in Illinois. The ride there had been fine, everyone had stayed quiet, but when they had gotten to the hotel the same thing started up again. He had grabbed his son's hand and his son had wrenched it out and had ran a few steps before tripping up and crying and screaming for someone to help him. Six Shooter had taken his son up to the room, he had stayed behind and had apologized for the noise, paying the hotel extra for the trouble.

"First off I want to know why you have been asking other people, strangers in fact, to help you out when there's nothing wrong with you." he said, he tapped his fingers against the chairs arm. His son was standing a few feet in front of him, almost against the wall. His eyes, a star burst orange and yellow with red background, were bright and he could see that he was shaking a little and his hand was in a fist.


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling himself up quickly, looking at his nephew, Six Shooter could tell that something was wrong. He had seen Arson act like this before but it had been for only a few minutes, Arson had been doing this for a long time now. His flamethrower was up, even though it was broken and couldn't be used the bandaging around it would be able to do some damage, his brother had bandaged it real good and tight so that everything inside wouldn't fall even more apart. Setting his son on the bed, he prepared himself to act fast, he had a feeling a fight was about to happen.

Torch, himself, could believe that his son was standing in front of him with his hand in a fist, his son had done a few things that had been abnormal the last few years but nothing like this. He remembered this one time where he had sent his son to bed for breaking into one of the caretakers cars, his son had gone up a few steps then had ran back down and had kicked him in the heel. His son had also hit him the night before he had ran away, something he had never done before, it had surprised him.

"Calm down son," he said, eying his son. "no one's gonna hurt ya."

"You say that so confidently," his son said. " do you not remember how you slapped me the night I ran away?"

"You were hitting me son," Torch said, sitting down in the chair. "I'm not going to just stand around and let someone hit on me."

"You could of just pushed me away." Arson said, walking to the side.

"I could have yes," Torch said. "slapping you got the point across now didn't it?"

"Yeah, don't touch my old man," Arson screamed. "if ya do he'll slap you and he won't think twice about it!"

Arson took several steps forward then ran towards the door. He was turning the knob when his father grabbed him. Screaming as loud as he could, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs out, he wished he could twist his body around. Throwing his head back he knocked his head against his father who dropped him. Turning around he tried stomping on his father's foot but was instead picked up by the waist. With a roar his father lifted him up and slammed his body to the ground, he felt all the wind in his body leave through his mouth.

"I don't know what your problem is son," his father said, he was on top of him holding him down. "but I don't like it."

Seeing his father get up, still not feeling like sitting up, Arson felt great fear. The first thing he thought was that his father was going to kick him in the ribs. Instead his father walked over to the chair and sat himself in it. After a few minutes he felt new air rush into his lungs. Sitting up slowly, checking himself to see if anything was broken, he saw that his brother was slowly sliding from the bed, his uncle had his eyes on him, not his own son.

Four Way Shot felt great concern for his brother, his father had just slammed his body to the floor and he had stayed on top of him for a few minutes. His uncle had tried doing this to his muscular uncle a few times and had, instead, had the deed done to him. His father had called it the ol' switcheroo. With a push, he fell off of the bed and onto the floor. Closing his mouth tightly, biting his lip hard, he fought hard to keep the scream of pain in. His father hadn't noticed that he was on the floor, he was looking at his brother who was sitting up. Slowly sliding forward, he intended to go to him.

"Collect your boy Tex."

Pulling his head up he saw that his uncle was slightly turned towards him, he didn't understand why his uncle wouldn't allow him to go to his brother, usually he'd let him. Turning around he saw that his father was standing above him, his legs on either side of him. When he felt his father's hands on him he cringed, his leg hurt but he still wanted to go see his brother, he didn't want to sit on the bed the whole time they were here. Pushing his head into his father's shirt, he felt like crying.

"Ye wanna cook dinner?" his father asked. "Or do ye want me to do it?"

"I'll cook supper," he heard his uncle say. "won't take long, going to be easy tonight."

Making a disgusted sound in his throat, Four Way Shot dug his head deeper into his father's shirt. He hated easy meals, they didn't taste as good as the fully cooked meals that the caretakers made back home. His uncle wasn't all that good a cook, a majority of what he cooked was almost all the way burned or half way burned. Feeling his father place him on the bed, he turned his head slightly, looking in the direction of his brother. Arson was still on the floor, but his head was between his hands. He didn't know if he was crying or if he was just hiding disappointment. He wished his father had offered to cook, he was a great at it!

"Might as well get started." Torch said, standing up.

Picking his head up off of the floor, Arson felt like screaming. His father, he had heard, had taken up the duty of cooking them supper. Seeing his father walk towards him he wished he could grab his ankles and say no. There was a lump in his throat, he couldn't talk, all he could do was make a few sounds. When his father swung a leg over him he didn't touch him, the other leg nudged him a little when he picked it up, he rolled over a little when he felt it pressing against his ribs. Picking his head up when his father had walked past, he saw that his uncle was walking towards the bathroom.

"Pssst, Four Way," he whispered. "can you hear me?"

"Shur can!" his brother replied silently. "

"You happy about my dad cooking supper?" Arson asked, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

"Course not!" he heard his brother whisper. "Whut do ye think he's a-cookin'?"

"Something easy he said," Arson said, walking forward. "probably a tv dinner."

"Could it be hot dogs?" Four Way Shot asked.

"If he's cooking hot dogs then there'll be a sure bet they'll be badly burned." Arson whispered.

"Yuck!"

Seeing his father walk into the room, Four Way Shot quickly closed his mouth. He didn't know if his father had heard him same yuck or not, he hoped so. His father stopped in the middle of the room for a few seconds then he walked towards his brother. Arson pulled back and lowered his head when his father patted him on the shoulder. He had been doing that a lot lately, and Arson wasn't use to it yet so every time he did do it he'd pull back and try hiding his head. At times he'd use the short spike on his head like a bull would use his horns, of course he never charged anyone, his spike was sharp enough to cause some trouble.

"Ye all ready fer dinner?" his father asked.

"H....kinda." his brother said.

"Ye gotta try to control that thar mouth o' yers," his uncle said, patting his shoulder gently. "ain't right fer a five year old to be a-cussin'."

Turning around, hiding the laugh inside, Arson saw his brother make a slashing motion under his throat. Four Way Shot's father didn't know that his son, at nine years old, cussed as well, although not as much as he did. One time when they had been sitting at the table a few years back, his father still outside trying to catch the chickens that didn't want to go in the chicken house, Four Way Shot had said fuck you out loud. Everyone at the table had stopped eating and had stared at him, surprised. Four Way Shot had slid half way out of his seat, embarrassed.

"Supper in five." he heard his father yell.

Five minutes later his father placed a plate in front of him, he was sitting at the table as was his brother. Both of them were looking at the food, surprised. The hot dogs that were on their plates weren't burned, in fact they looked right tasty. Letting his brother try his first, Arson held his breath. A few seconds of chewing turned into his brother nodding his head. Turning his head to the side and picking one of the hot dogs up that was on his plate, he took a bite. It tasted right well, he wished that his father had set down some mustard, ketchup and onions, he and his brother agreed that a hot dog without mustard, ketchup and onions wasn't as tasty as one that was bare.

"Do ye got any katchoop or moosturd?" his brother asked.

"Sorry kid," his uncle said. "there's none in the kitchen."

Four Way Shot's father was standing, his plate in one of his hands and one of the hot dogs in another. His uncle, on the other hand, was sitting in the chair, his plate on his lap and the second hot dog in hand, half eaten. Turning around, intending to finish his meal, taking one look at Arson made him want to gag. Since Arson didn't have lips, he had hot dog shreds all over his mouth.

"If you like this," he heard his uncle say. "you're going to love dessert."

"German Chok-lit Cake." his father chimed. "The bes' dang chok-lit cake out thar!"

Neither he nor Arson knew what German Chocolate Cake was, when they tasted it though they thought it was the best cake ever! After one bite they started purring like kittens. Arson finished his first and as usual he had asked for more and had been denied, Four Way Shot got through his slice and then he tried standing up.

"Son, ye stay sittin'." his father said.

"But I gotta go potty." Four Way Shot said, jumping up and down in his seat.

"Ye hold it." his father said. "I is almost finished."

Four Way Shot's father was a little too slow, quite unusual as he was rather quick. After supper Arson sat down in a corner while Four Way Shot was ushered to the bathroom for a bath. His father was sitting in the chair, reading the magazine that he had been reading on the train. The trees on the cover were on fire, the flames seemed to be reaching for the sky and the smoke gave it a darker feel. His father got a lot of magazines in the mail with covers such as this, some of them had drawings and photos of fires and what had happened to cause them and others were magazines about natural disasters. At times his father would get books in the mail, the newest one that had come in a few months earlier had been about volcanoes and their history, it was one of his favorite reads.

"Alrighty, yer a-clean." Six Shooter said.

Seeing his uncle walk out of the bathroom with his son in his arms almost asleep made a distant memory spark up in Arson. He remembered when he had been carried by his father when he was sick, how gentle and caring he was a few years ago. He missed it, he truly did. Now, whenever he was carried it was only to take him into his bedroom for disciplining. Now, whenever anyone touched him he thought it was for disciplining, he'd always pull away a little and he'd always get a little jumpy, he was okay with Four Way Shot, he knew that he wouldn't hurt him. Yawning a little, Arson stood up and made for the bed.

"And where are you going?" he heard his father say.

"Bedtime, I'm tired." Arson said, flashing his eyes on and off.

"You go to bed at eight son?" his father asked.

"Yeah," Arson replied, turning around a little. "why?"

"Seems a little early to be going to sleep." his father said, shrugging his shoulders. "Not to mention you just got through eating."

"Torch!" his uncle called. "If he a-wants to go to sleep early than let him."

His father looked at his uncle for a few seconds then shrugged his shoulders, before he returned to his magazine he made a go ahead motion with his hand. Taking his jacket off and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt, Arson got ready for bed.


	5. Part 2: The Homestead

Walking into the house was the easy part, seeing his family members and the caretakers faces was totally the opposite. Four Way Shot could feel himself shrinking, growing smaller with each face he saw. The one that stood out the most was his aunt's. She stared at him, disappointed. His uncle, Pinhead, stood with his shoulder against the wall, his arms were crossed and one of his hands was tapping up against his body.

"Alrighty," his father said, stepping away. "they's all a-yers."

Four Way Shot had already heard enough from his aunt, he had been handed the phone and had been yelled at for a few minutes. A few minutes after he had talked to his aunt she had asked for his brother, who had had to have the phone shoved up and held to the side of his head. Looking over at his brother, he saw that he was looking at their half siblings, Slasha and Slash.

"Young man!" he heard his aunt yell. "Look at me!"

He had been on the road for a little while and his leg had healed enough to not require a cast, he could walk on his own without pain. Turning around and looking his aunt in the eye, he felt great guilt. His aunt was wearing a pair of black jeans and a purple tank top, a purple necklace around her neck glistened in the rays from the sun that were seeping in through the windows. She had black hair and dark brown, almost black, eyes.

"What was you thinking?" she asked, this was the second time she had asked this. When he had been handed his uncle's cell phone she had asked him why he had ran away, why he had taken his brother with him and what he would have done if he or his brother had been hurt. Unbeknown to her, he thought, his brother had been burned badly and had gone through a lot of medicine and bandaging to make sure that the wounds didn't get infected, he was still far from being a hundred percent healed.

"Ye an' me have already gone through all o' this," Four Way Shot said. "ye've already gotten on me."

"Obviously not enough," his aunt yelled, stepping forward. "what is this that I am hearing of you separating from your brother?"

"He a-said he a-wanted to go to Virginny," he said, stepping back. "I a-tried to stop him but he insisted."

Four Way Shot was shocked, he hadn't told his aunt, he hadn't told nobody, that he had separated from his brother until now. He remembered his father talking to his aunt earlier, before they had gotten off of the train. Turning his head and looking at his brother, he could see that he was equally as surprised.

"You're the oldest," she started to say.

"Yes, I a-know I is the oldest an' I'm a-posed to be more mator," he blurted out, unexpectedly. "I a-know it a-wasn't ver mator o' me to run away, but I did an' now Imma back."

His outburst did more than make his aunt pull away, he saw in her face that she was very hurt. He had never yelled at her like that before. Walking over to the couch and sitting in it, he covered his face with his hands and started crying. His brother stood in the same place, he was preparing himself for his aunt to talk to him.

"I told you he was bad!" he heard his sister cry. "You wouldn't listen but..."

Everyone turn towards his older half sister, Arson heard himself growl deep inside. He and his brother were half siblings as well but they preferred to be called normal brothers instead, they were very close. Slasha was a seven year old that had an obsession with Bellatrix Lestrange from the latest Harry Potter movie and dressed almost exactly like her except that a few parts of her dress were laced with purple and the top wasn't open, her father would not allow it. She had a pure white skull face, like her father, and copper gray hair flowed down to her shoulders, she had silver spikes in her eyes and a wild, almost annoying way of laughing like a crazed Hyena.

"Young lady, do you not mind going in the kitchen and getting yourself a snack," his aunt said gently.

"Yes ma'am." his half sister said.

His half sister walked out of the room, glancing at him a few times and puckering her lips as if she was about to cry and kiss someone at the same time. Turning himself back to his aunt, staring at her, he got ready to be yelled at. Four Way Shot pulled his head up in time to see his half brother run at Arson, he tried to warn him but it was too late.

Feeling the impact of his smaller and younger half brother slam into him was nothing, felt more like a gentle nudge then a slam. Turning around quickly, he smacked his half brother. Slash fell to the ground and started crying and pointing, he was two years younger than Arson and two inches shorter and would always get his way, as did his sister. Everyone thought that they were the little angels of the four children, and he felt that everyone saw him as the red sheep with long twisting, menacing horns.

"Daddy," his half brother cried. "he hit me!"

"Slash," he heard his uncle Blade say angrily. "get up, go to your mom and she'll get you a snack."

His half brother stood up and dusted himself off, he was wearing black leather pants with a red stripe down the side and a black shirt, a waist high jacket of black leather with a red spider stitched in the back and black boots. His hair was silver, a little darker than his father who had long white hair, and it came down to his shoulders, his hair was still very soft, he hadn't lost his baby hair yet. He didn't wear a hat and had spiky hair on top of his head and his eyes were spiked.

"Tex, Torch," he heard his aunt call. "take your sons up to their rooms and lock them in."

Feeling his father grab his hand and pull him behind him, Arson pulled back. There was no way he was going to allow his father to lead him around like there were cuffs around his hands. Moving his shoulders from side to side and cracking his neck, he walked up the stairs himself, when he got to his room he slammed the door behind him. When he plopped himself down on his bed, he heard a click on the door, probably his father inserting the key that would lock him in for awhile.

Four Way Shot was still a little on the weak side when it came to walking up a good number of steps but he managed to climb up without falling. His father was behind him, poking him in the back, prodding him to continue walking. Since he was his son no one else except for his uncle Torch, was allowed to put a finger on him when it came to discipline. When he reached his bedroom he turned around and looked up at his father, who made a sound deep in his throat and quickly opened the door. When he walked in the door was quickly slammed shut and locked. When he heard his father walking down the stairs he made for the window.

Lying himself down on the bed, Arson stared at the ceiling above him. He had good mind to grab his G-O and play Michael Jackson's Bad, one of his favorites. Before he and his brother had woken up their father's had come home and had dropped off the bags of clothing that they had placed in them, his bag with his black pants, red shirt and black pants and the black boots with the chain on the sides was hanging on his bathrooms door. Standing up and walking towards them, he was wearing his jacket, he had taken it off for four days. He and his brother had been taken to four hotels, from Illinois to Kansas, where the train had been stopped a few times due to weather, both he and his brother had seen a tornado at work and it had been awesome, and then they had gotten lost in Nevada and had had to stay overnight at one of the worst hotels there, his father had stayed away all night to protect them from people that were looking for an easy buck, and then the last stop was in California last night. It had taken them almost two weeks to get home.

Seeing his brother stand up and turn his back at the window made Four Way Shot a little angry, he had been lightly tapping on his window. Balling his fist up and hitting it against the glass hard but not hard enough to break the glass, he finally got his attention. his Arson reached the window and opened it a little a few minutes later.

"Bro, lemmee in." he said lightly.

"Why?" his brother said. "Give me a reason."

"I a-wanna talk to ye." Four Way Shot said.

"Exactly why can't we talk like we are now?" Arson said, hiding a laugh.

"Cause it's a-cold out here." Four Way Shot exclaimed.

Opening the window all the way, feeling the cold air rush in, Arson watched as his brother swung both legs in then slid the rest of him without touching the window pane effortlessly. Walking over to the door and looking through the keyhole, he saw that no one was in the hallway. His brother sat himself on his bed and looked at him, his eyes soft as always.

"Well," he said. "I guess this is a-how we done got welcomed home."

"Woo hoo," Arson whispered sarcastically. "we get sent to our rooms after twenty minutes."

"We's bad," his brother sang lightly. "who is a-bad? We is!"

Arson held a laugh in, it was a battle but somehow he kept it in. His brother was the only one in the family to both cheer him up when he was down and to make him laugh. His brother was on the bed, two of his four hands over his mouth. A few weeks ago he had fallen out a window and had grabbed a hold of the frame, the glass that hadn't broken had gone into his hands and had cut him badly. For some reason his father hadn't bandaged them up, they looked to be getting somewhat infected. Plopping down on the bed and punching his brother in the stomach, he was oblivious of the doorknob jangling behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ye is bad," his brother continued to sing. "I is bad, but she is the baddest one o' us all!"

"I think you still have some whiskey in your system bro," Arson laughed. "you are ridiculous!"

"Funny thang o' it is," his brother started laughing. "mah pa still a-hasn't told me off 'bout it."

"Awww..." they heard. "I'm tellin' daddy that you are outta your room Four Way Shot!"

Turning his head fast and looking at his door, Arson saw his half sister half in and half out of his room. In one of her hands, she had gotten a hand made as she had been born with a very sharp knife, it looked like her father's except it was barbed and was poisonous, was a stick. She was pointing it threateningly at Arson, her hair was falling over one of her shoulders.

"Go ahead, tell him," Arson said, standing up. "by the time he gets up here Four Way Shot will be gone."

"An' then ye'll a-be punished," his brother said, sitting up. "yer pa will a-say ye shouldn't have been in mah bros room."

"A-heh heh heh a-heh heh heh a-heh a-heh a-heh heh heh," their half sister laughed. "you think they'll believe that me, a sweet little angel, will do such a thing."

Slasha raised the stick when her younger brother took a few steps towards her, she was always getting her brothers in trouble. One time she had made the cookie jar fall, when it had hit the floor it had broken into a few thousand pieces and the cookies inside had rolled all over the floor, when her father had come around the corner asking what all the noise was and had seen all the mess he had demanded who had done it she had pointed at Arson who had just walked in the door, she had said that he was trying to flee the crime. He had been sent to his room and had missed out on lunch that day.

"You come any closer and I'll cast a spell on you!" she exclaimed. "One more step."

Arson dropped his mouth in an evil smile, Four Way Shot was on his feet and was walking towards her, he was throwing all four of his arms around and puckering his lips. He and Slasha had a very distant relationship as well. One day she had set one of the mares loose. She had blamed him and he had been grounded for a week from riding.

"Imma comin' fer ya," he taunted. "ye bes' run cause Imma comin'."

"Stooooopeeeefie!" his half sister shouted.

Four Way Shot stood in place for a second, not moving, then he moved one of his hands, waving at his half sister. Arson broke down and started laughing and pointing. The stick in his half sister's hand dropped and she backed out of his room, shocked. When she stepped on the back of her dress and fell back both boys started laughing loudly.

"Stop it!" Slasha yelled. "Just stop it!"

"What the hell is going on up here?"

Four Way Shot was too slow, his uncle, Torch, walked into the room. Once he saw that both boys were in the same room his relaxed hand became a fist, his eyes, which had been dark, were now a bright red and they could detect a deep growl coming from him. Four Way Shot backed up a few steps when he saw that his line of sight was directed at him, not his brother.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" his uncle asked.

"Well...I..." Four Way Shot sputtered.

"Six Shooter!" his uncle yelled down the hall.

Four Way Shot and Arson both ran at the door and past Torch, who was caught unprepared and couldn't catch them. Four Way Shot turned the corner a little too fast and slipped, falling to his knees and sliding a little on the carpet. When he caught up to Arson he stopped. His father was walking up the stairs fast, taking two at a time. He stopped when he saw them. When they turned around they saw that Torch was behind them.

"An' whut's a-goin' on here?" Six Shooter asked. "An' why is ye out o' yer room?"

"Exactly what I want to know," Torch yelled. "I come up the stairs and see Slasha on the ground and Four Way Shot in my son's room."

Slasha ran around the corner and grabbed his father, he couldn't help feel jealous when he saw her hugging close to him. He had never allowed him to do that. Four Way Shot and he were back to back, his four armed brother looking at his father and he looking at his. He had a feeling that his half sister was going to pull another of her moments.

"Why was ye on the floor young un'?" he heard his uncle ask.

"He pushed me!" Slasha cried into her uncle's back. "Four Way Shot, he pushed me!"

Four Way Shot's father pulled his head towards his son fast and took a few steps toward him. Arson could feel his brother pressing himself tightly against him. Using as much strength as he could, he pushed him into the wall and shielded him, putting his body in front of his brother's.

"He did not!" he screamed. "Four Way would never...NEVER...push a girlie. He's a gentleman!"

"Son," his father said. "step aside for a minute will ya. Calm down, yes we know your brother is a gentleboy, not man but boy."

"He's a man dad!" Arson screamed.

His father and uncle started laughing real softly, he could feel his brother lower his shoulders in sadness. Before he knew it his brother was pushing past him, he tried to stop him but his father grabbed his arm, stopping him. He saw his brother round the corner and he heard his brother open then slam his door, hard! Turning himself on his father, his father took a step back.

"How could you?" Arson asked, confused. "You hurt his feelings! How could you!"

Not allowing his father to answer, he pushed past him and his half sister and raced to his room. When he slammed the door shut he heard a glass frame fall. The window was still open from when his brother had come in, he hoped his brother would surprise him and tap on the glass, let him know he was there.

Four Way Shot had thrown himself to his bed and had shoved his face in his pillow. As usual he believed that his uncle had believed his half sister, whenever she had accused him of something they'd always believe her and punish him wrongly. He had never hit a girl in his life and he wouldn't start now, he and his half sister didn't get along but he would never come to allow himself to hit or kick her, that, he felt, was her father's job.

"Bro, bro are you there?"

Reaching his hand into the small area, a cubby he called it, where he'd keep a few things he didn't want his father to know about, a few packs of cigarettes that he had promised to keep for his brother, a lighter and a CD portable and three sets of fresh batteries, Four Way Shot pulled out a small walkie talkie. Sniffling still, tears still rolling down his cheeks, he pressed one of his fingers against one of the buttons.

"B....bro?" he said, trying to stop crying. "I...Imma here."

"You okay?" he heard his brother say a few minutes later.

"Kinda," he said. "jus', re...real sad."

"What my dad said to you was really bad man!" Arson said angrily. "You're a gentleman, there's no such thing as a gentleboy!"

"Kin I a-go to sleep now?" Four Way Shot asked. "Imma tired."

"Alright bro," Arson said, sighing. "I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast okay."

"Okie dokie bro," Four Way Shot said, unbuttoning his shirt. "nighty night."


	7. Chapter 7

Four Way Shot walked into the kitchen a little later than usual, his alarm clock hadn't been set to it's usual time and he had misplaced his hat. Arson was already in the living room, his father was sitting on the couch reading a magazine and Arson had been dusting the table tops and there had been a stack of books sitting by the tv.

"Howdy Torch." he said. Torch lowered the magazine and stared at him hard. Arson turned around and made a motion of no-no with his hand, the whole front of his shirt was wet.

"Go get you some breakfast," his uncle pulled the magazine up and began reading it again. Arson walked forward quickly and pulled him down so that he could say something into his ear.

"My dad has me on manual labor," his brother said. "watch yourself, you may be next."

There was a woman in the kitchen when he walked in, she was wearing a green shirt and blue jeans, clearing his throat and walking over, he planned on greeting her.

"Hello Four Way," the woman said. "take a seat, I'll have your breakfast to you in a sec."

When the woman turned he recognised her right off, her name was Judy and she was one of the ladies his uncle Blade was dating. Slasha was her daughter, she had gotten her copper colored hair from her mother, the gray that was mixed in was from her father. Judy's shirt was open a little, a white tank top underneath, and she had a silver necklace with a pink heart hanging from the silver chain, pink hearts hung from her ears.

"Whut's fer breakfast?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Your usual." Judy said, walking towards him with a pan.

He had two usuals when it came to breakfast, a plate of beacon and eggs or just a pancake with syrup and a strawberry on top. The pan that she was holding was the one she used when she was making pancakes, he felt his mouth water, it had been a while since he had eaten the waffles with honey and whipped cream. When she placed the pancake on his plate all she did was put some syrup on it, turning his head to the side and looking up at her, he wondered where the strawberry was. A few seconds later he decided to start eating it, thinking that his father had told her to just make him something to eat fast.

"You father wants you outside once you are finished eating." Judy said, leaning against the counter.

"How's ol' Loui?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Better," she said. "he'll be up and walking in a few more days."

"Ye mus' be a-breathin' a sigh o' relief." Four Way Shot said, swallowing a mouthful of pancake.

"Yes, I am."

Judy's youngest son, Loui, had caught the Chicken Pocks a few days before he had ran away, he was only two years old and had gotten very sick, not being able to get out of bed for nothing. He and Arson had joked the night he had been stricken with the illness about him always running after and playing with the chickens. Swallowing the last bit of what he had on his plate he pushed himself from the table and walked to the door. When he turned around he saw that Judy was walking towards the sink with his plate. Lacing his fingers and cracking them, he opened the door and walked out.

His father, he believed, was in the barn that housed the horses so he headed towards it, he could hear one of the horses pawing at the bedding, begging to be fed. There were nine stables in the barn, five of them were occupied with another that was hardly used, the horse was wild at heart and at times would run away in the pasture when it was time to be brought in for the night, there was another horse on the property that did that as well, his father hadn't gotten around to taming her yet. When he entered the barn the first thing he did was stop and take in the smells of the horses, the hay and the manure.

"Pa?" he asked.

The pawing was coming from the first stall, the top and bottom of the doors were closed so he didn't know which of the horses it was that was pawing. When he didn't get an answer he headed to the feeding room, there was a set of instructions for feeding each horse tacked to a bulletin board, he knew them by heart. Grabbing a scoop, he lifted one of the boxes of feed up and dipped it in, when he pulled the scoop out he poured the oats in a red bucket. The second scoop was for some pellets, when he was pushing the scoop into the sweet grain he stopped, he believed the horse that was in the stall that was pawing at the bedding was his father's favorite stallion, one of two stallions in the barn. When he walked out of the feed room he walked into his father.

"Whut ye doin'?" his father asked.

"Feedin' one o' the hosses." he replied.

"Which one?" his father asked.

"The one that's a-pawing pa."

His father pulled his kerchief off and wiped his face with it, he didn't know how hot it was or how long his father had been out but judging by the way his clothes were he had been out for a while. There was a tear in the right knee of his jeans, his jeans were muddy and dusty and his shirt was untucked and dirty. His father stepped to the side and let him go past, when he was a few feet away he saw that he was walking towards the end stall, the foaling stall that held the only mare bred on the ranch.

"Ye be shur to give all o' the hosses water," he heard his father say. "las' time ye didn't, darn thangs was a-callin' fer hours."

When he reached the stall the horse inside had stopped pawing, he could imagine that the horse was standing in front of the door, ears pricked high, listening to every word that had been exchanged. With a smile, he pulled the latch and opened the door, the horse inside nickered softly when he saw him. He was a magnificent animal of fourteen and a half hands, lovely dark bay with two front stockings and a blaze.

"Howdy Banjo," he said, patting the horse on the nose.

His father had built a small step so that he could reach the feed bowl in every stall, stepping onto it he hardly had the contents in the bucket in the bowl before the horse pushed his nose in. Turning around and walking out of the stall, he grabbed another bucket and filled it to the top with water. When he turned around he saw his father standing in front of the stall.

"Ye tryin' to teach mah hoss that it's a-fine to walk off?" his father asked angrily.

"No pa," Four Way Shot squeaked. "never."

"Nex' time ye leave a stall," his father said, taking a step towards him. "close the door."

"Yes pa," Four Way Shot said, stepping forward with the bucket. "I a-will."

"Nex' time I a-catch ye walkin' off leavin' a stall door open fer one o' mah hosses to walk out yer tail will a-be considered hoss food." his father said, walking off. "An' I ain't kiddin' either."

Giving food to the four horses that were in the front of the barn was easy, when he left each stall to get them water he remembered to close the door behind him, he didn't feel like being followed by a bunch of horses trying to snatch at his pants. The fifth horse in the barn, the one in the foaling box, was harder to feed. Her name was Mae and she was pregnant with a Colonels Smoking Gun foal, she was a Buckskin mare with dark brown stripes on her legs. She needed a little more food which had required him to go back to the feed room and fill the bucket half way. When he checked out the fifth stall he smiled greatly.

Standing inside was a delightfully gorgeous palomino stallion, he had three stockings and a sock and a very long blaze that reached down to his nose. His dark brown eyes were very bright, throwing his head up he tossed his white mane. Four Way Shot had witnessed the birth of this horse three years ago, his mother was the horse he had just fed. His father was one of the grandchildren of Doc Bar, a spectacular halter horse who had revolutionized the cutting horse industry. His mother was half thoroughbred, which attributed him to having more leg and less barrel of a purebred Quarter Horse. For the past year and a half he and his father had been training him for the upcoming barrel races that were five months away. He hoped that he hadn't spoiled it by running away, he really wanted to be a participant in the races.

"Howdy Xooti," Four Way Shot called. "how ye today?"

His father had woken him up at three and had dragged him half dressed to the barn, it had taken Mae an hour and twenty minutes to foal, when she had the foal had tried to get up right away. He had been darker as a foal, lightening up to the light palomino that he was now. He had been allowed to name the foal, Bee'xooti. His father had said an hour after he had been born, while they had been drinking cocoa, that the foal was his. When he poured the contents in the bucket in the trough his horse shoved his nose in and started eating.

Leaving his horse after giving him water, he walked to the last stall that would usually be empty. He held his breath and looked in, his luck had ran out. Standing in the stall was a chestnut mare of fourteen hands, she had a star and snip on her face. When the mare saw him she screamed. The horse didn't belong to his father, she belonged to a woman that had a similar temper. For some reason the woman and his father got along great, he had caught them riding off together, his father on Banjo and the woman on the mare, and one time he had caught his father holding her hand. He could swear that the woman slept in his father's room, a few times he had caught her closing his door before his alarm clock would go off.

"Howdy Madonny," he said. "ye gonna be a good gal today?"

As soon as the words left his mouth the mare reared up and screamed. Her striped hooves stretched for the door and hit it, her door wasn't like the others, the other stalls had a latch on them, hers was chained as she had figured out how to get it open, her door was also steel, she had kicked the wooden door off it's hinges several times. Plucking the courage needed to open the door, he stretched his hand out.

"Four Way Shot!"

Opening his eyes and turning around, he saw a woman of tall stature running towards him. She was, at least, five feet seven maybe more inches tall with dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes. She was wearing a red button up shirt, tucked in, and blue jeans, and she had black boots on her feet and a light brown cowgirl hat on her head. When she reached him she gently pushed him away from the stall, the horse inside was calming down.

"Let me." the girl said.

"Whar'd ye come from?" Four Way Shot asked, backing away and giving her room.

"I was just talking to your father," she said. "he said for me to give you this."

The girl handed him a piece of paper with instructions written on it in his father's handwriting. Sighing loudly, he started walking down the aisle. The girl had been living at the ranch since before he was born, his father had to know her a lot. Stopping at the middle of the barn and turning around, he saw that she had two buckets in hand, one full of feed and the other full of water. She was in and out of the stall within ten minutes.

"So, whut was ye a-talkin to mah pa fer?" he asked.

"No reason," the girl said quickly. "he just asked me to give you that."

"Yeah right!" Four Way Shot said equally as fast. "Come on, ye kin a-tell me."

"Never you mind," the girl said. "you best run on and do that list, your father says for them to be done by three."

"Ye been a-smoochin' mah pa?" Four Way Shot asked, walking forward and leaning against a stall, trying to turn on some of his boyish charm.

"No Four Way," she said. "run along now."

"Alrighty," Four Way Shot said. He walked a few steps then stopped and turned his head, smiling just as evilly as his father. "jus' ye remember that I a-gots the eyes o' a hawk."


	8. Chapter 8

Walking inside after spending all day raking the yard of debris that would harm that animals, collecting eggs, milking both the cows and the goats and taking each horse out minus the one, Four Way Shot was exhausted. At times he'd help his father do those chores, but this time around his father had sat in a chair watching him do it all. He had fed and watered the goats and pigs but everything else he had placed on his shoulders. His shirt was untucked and dirty from when one of the goats butted him and his jeans were really ripped at the knee, the knee he had ripped open when he had ran away was open and bleeding again, he hadn't noticed the pain because he was so tired.

"Not easy now is it?"

Lifting his head up was hard, every inch of muscle in his body hurt. His uncle, Pinhead, was sitting at the table, a glass of lemonade in his hand. His uncle was wearing a pair of black jeans and an orange t-shirt, normally he'd have black gloves with the fingers cut off, he wasn't wearing them now. On his feet were a pair of red and white sneakers.

"No, kind o' back breakin' ye know." he said. "How does he a-do it?"

"He has a lot of muscle built up in him." his uncle said.

His uncle had a slightly deep sounding voice, he raised his arm and teased him by showing that the glass was full. His uncle was packed with muscle, at times he's wrestle with a few of his uncle's and the caretakers. Squinting his eyes then going to the fridge he opened it. His father had some muscle visible in his arms and legs, but what was underneath was what counted. He was a very rough and tough guy and he had a lot of hidden muscle in his arms, legs and back that he'd use to his advantage. Pulling a juice pack out and poking the straw in, he started drinking it.

"Hurt's don't it?"

Turning his head to the left, he saw his father leaning against the fridge. It took all he could to nod his head without crying, everything hurt him. His father had gone in to get a shower and a new set of clothes an hour after he had started working, when he had come out he had been holding a glass of water, when he had passed his father a few times he had raised his glass, which had been half full.

"Yeah," Four Way Shot said. "it a-does."

"Bes' git use to it," his father said. "yer a-gonna be doin' thangs like that all week."

Every single muscle in his body must have screamed no, they felt like they had fallen a little at his father's words. Holding his breath and forcing himself from begging his father to waver his punishment, Four Way Shot walked off. Thinking to himself, telling himself, that one day had past and that the week would go by fast, he made his way up to his room.

Arson was lying on the couch when his brother walked into the living room. He nearly dropped his jaw in surprise, he hadn't seen his brother all day and he hadn't expected to see him walk the way he was. He was turned slightly down at the shoulder and he was limping badly, his clothes looked equally as bad. Two of his sleeves of his shirt were just hanging by threads, there was a rip in the side and it was really muddy and dusty. His pants were equally as muddy and dusty, the knee that he had cut when he had ran away was once again open, he wondered if that knee was ever going to be allowed to heal properly. When his brother reached the stairs he stopped and took a deep breath in. When he raised his foot he could see all the pain rush to his face.

"Leave him alone son!"

He wasn't as sore as his brother, his father had given him a list of things to do after he had eaten breakfast and he had been finished with them long before his brother had come in. He had dusted and cleaned the tops of the tables and the bookshelf, had taken all of the books off of the bookshelf and had arranged them in alphabetical order, he had gotten stuck after the letter L and his father had had to yell at him all of the letters following it and he had vacuumed the whole living room and the hallway on the second floor. After he had finished all of that his father had waved his hand and had told him to go do something. Since his brother hadn't been around, he had had to be content with playing cars his half brother Slash. His half sister, at the time, had been in the kitchen with her mother, she had been helping her cook lunch and she had helped wash the dishes. Every time he had heard the door open and shut he had looked up, expecting his brother to walk in.

"Dad!" he heard his half brother yell. "Look what I built!"

Turning around, he saw his uncle walk around the corner. His uncle was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with red stitching, his long white hair that reached far past his shoulders was held up. His skull face with the black skull eyes made him shiver a little, he had spikes in his eyes, as did his son and daughter, there were black shoes on his feet.

"That's very nice son," he said. "what is it?"

"A rocket dad." Slash said excitedly.

"Very nice," his father said, patting him on the back. "your getting better at building every day."

The thing that his half brother had called a rocket looked like a jumbled up mess, he didn't see the rocket. He had blue Lego's connected to red Lego's and yellow Lego's were connected to those. Standing up and dusting himself off, trying to not look suspicious, he made for the stairs.

"And where the hell are you going?"

Stopping quickly and turning around, thinking that his father had gotten up from his seat on the couch, Arson saw that instead his uncle Blade and Slash were looking at him. His father's face was still in the magazine that he had been reading earlier. Swallowing his nervousness quickly and standing up straight, he walked forward a few steps.

"To the bathroom." he said.

"The bathroom is no where near the stairs." his father said.

"I know that!" Arson said annoyed. "I just sidestepped is all."

"The bathroom is over there son." his father told him.

"Your brother will be down after his father readies his bath." he heard his uncle say.

"In other words, your brother will most definitely won't want you up there when he's ass naked." his father said.

"You mean the boy don't know how to run the faucet?"

Looking over to the right he saw his uncle, Pinhead, walk in. Slasha was behind him, playing follow the leader. When Slasha saw her father she ran over and hugged him tightly. He patted her on her shoulder, not taking his eyes off of him. He felt that everyones eyes were on him.

"No, he knows how to turn it on and off," his uncle said. "he's just really tired and sore."

"He best get use to being tired and sore," he heard his muscular uncle say. "he'll be doing what he did today all of this week."

While his uncle's were engaged in talking he quickly ran up the stairs, when he looked back he saw that they were still talking, they didn't know that he had gone. He hadn't seen his brother's father walk up the stairs, he was probably outside talking to the helper that stayed with them. Walking up to his brother's door and knocking on it gently, he waited. When the door was opened his brother shot his hand out and grabbed his jacket, pulling him in fast.

"Bro, you okay?" he asked quickly.

"No," his brother hissed, his teeth clamped tightly over his bottom lip. "Imma sore all over!"

"Manual labor?" Arson asked.

"Mah pa done handed that gal that he a-talks to a list o' things fer me to do," his brother said. "milkin' the cows an' goats, feedin' the goats an' chickens, collectin' the chickens eggs, ye know all o' that stuff."

"Ouch!" Arson cringed. "Manual labor and a half decade!"

Arson started laughing, he didn't mean to but he felt a great surge of air in his chest and the only way to get it out was to laugh. Four Way Shot stared at him for a few minutes then ran at him, he was surprised that his brother could muster the strength to run much less flatten him to his back. Still laughing his brother balled one of his fists and slammed it into his stomach.

"Whut's a-goin' on in here?"

Turning around, still on the ground, Arson saw his uncle standing in the doorway, one of his hands still around it. Four Way Shot had fallen to his knees and his hand, which was still in a fist, was still on his stomach. When he tried standing he pushed it into his stomach. Arson growled when the pressure to his stomach got a little too heavy and pulled himself up, when he did his brother fell back down.

"Whut're ye doin' in here?" his uncle asked.

"Uhm," Arson thought quickly. "I came in here to..."

Arson thought quickly, he had a feeling that his uncle didn't want him in here. His brother was on his knees, one of his hands on the bed, his face was crunched up in pain. While he was thinking he grabbed his brother and helped him up gently. His brother pushed a magazine into his hand and winked one of his eyes.

"I was bringing Four Way this." Arson said, handing his uncle the magazine. "I thought he'd like to read it and all."

His uncle took one look at the magazine that he had picked up off the the table at noon, the mail would be thrown onto one of the tables and when everyone would come in they'd start rummaging through it. The magazine was a new issue of Horse & Rider, one of three magazines his uncle would get in the mail every month or so.

"I a-see ye got mah mail agin!" his uncle said. "How many times do I gots to tell ye to stay out o' mah mail?"

"I...thought he'd like to read it." Arson said, backing up.

"Ye see mah name on the address thingy," his uncle said, pointing at the white sticker with the name and address printed on it.

"Yessir." Arson said, looking down.

"Git out!"

His uncle didn't wait for him to move his feet, he grabbed his jacket by the shoulder and pulled him out, once he was outside the door it was closed in his face. He could hear his uncle saying a few words, every word getting distant until the sound of water made it very hard to distinguish.

"Dang young un's" his father was saying. "runnnin' away, thinkin' they can git off easy and stealin' mah mail..."

He didn't want to do a thing but stand there, his eyelids were drooping from exhaustion and he was about to fall asleep when he felt his father wrap four of his arms around him. Although he felt that his father was angry his father undressed him gently and placed him in a claw-like tub, he turned the water to warm and let it rise to his waist. He was nodding off when his father brought a sponge over his chest.

"Hey!" he heard. "Don't ye be a-fallin' asleep on me!"

His father shook his shoulders, making him open and shut his eyes a few times. When his father brought the sponge over his face he could barely take not falling asleep. It felt like forever before he was picked up and toweled off, his father picked him up and carried him to his bed where he dressed him in his underwear, he didn't put nothing else on him. Afterwards he pulled the covers down on his bed and layed him down on it, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	9. Chapter 9

"Bro? Bro wake up."

Opening his eyes a few hours later, Four Way Shot yawned greatly. It took his eyes a little while to adjust to the light in the room, his brother was sitting on his bed beside him, his hand resting on his shoulder, there was a flashlight, still on, lying between his legs. His flamethrower was still in bandaging, an appointment had been set for a technician to repair it the next day.

"Whut time is it?" he asked.

"You slept past dinner," Arson said. "way past three."

"A-why did ye a-wake me up?" Four Way Shot asked, trying to pull the sheet over his face.

"I was planning on going out," Arson said. "I thought you'd like to come with me."

He heard an owl hoot outside, the moon was a half and the stars were almost nonexistent because of the clouds. Pushing himself up with one arm, his muscles still hurt, he clamped his teeth down on his lower lip to stop the scream of pain that threatened to come up. His brother was already standing up, he was rummaging through his drawers, trying to get a shirt and a pair of jeans for him. Sliding his legs out from the sheets and pulling himself to his legs, he pushed his brother out the way.

"I kin do it," he said.

"You want me to help you get dressed?" Arson asked. "You look really sore."

"Nah, I gots it." Four Way Shot said, shivering a little. "Whar is we a-goin'?"

"I thought we needed a smoke after what happened today." Arson snarled.

After his brother had fallen asleep his father had thought up more chores for him to do after he had been told from his uncle that he had been in possession of one of his magazines. He had a bunch of magazines hidden under his mattress that had been thrown in a pile. Every night at one he'd go down to the living room when everyone was asleep and snatch a few. The ones that were in the pile almost all the time were nature magazines or magazines about disasters. He had been made to wash the floor in the kitchen, clean the bathrooms and take the trash out.

Putting his clothes on turned out to be easy, just as long as he didn't move his arms to fast he was fine. Climbing out the window was the hard part. When he pulled his leg up he felt like crying, he clamped his teeth down on his lower lip just as hard as he could to stop the wimpers that he was sure everyone would hear, it was very quiet out. The flower fence was still up, his father had mentioned something about taking it down the night before but he had either forgotten or hadn't gotten around to it. Swinging a leg over, his teeth slowly making deep marks in his lip, he started lowering himself to the ground.

The ranch yard was very quiet, the chickens had been put up in their house a few hours before, he had brought the horses in before he had entered the house and the cows, bulls and goats were sleeping in their pastures. The pigs, he could hear, were the only animals awake on the ranch, he could hear the grunts of one as it rolled in the mud and the sounds of another trying to get the last bit of pig slop out of the trough. Besides the grain that they'd get, his father would at times throw lettuce, apples and bread to them.

"Bro?" Four Way Shot asked. "Bro, ye okay?"

Arson was half way down the fence, his jacket had gotten stuck on one of the vines and he had had to untangle it with his teeth. When it was loose he climbed the rest of the way down, when his foot hit the ground he let go of the fence. He had left his black leather jacket in his closet, he didn't feel like ripping it, and had grabbed one of his old jackets on the way out. He had made sure that his window was unlocked and a little bit open, that way he wouldn't have to make too much noise when he got back.

"Yeah," he said. "my jacket got caught up and it slowed me down."

Walking past his brother and heading for the horses pasture, he didn't see the small figure looking out her window at him. Four Way Shot followed by his side, he was limping badly but he was keeping up. The horses pasture had an old rusty car hidden behind a bunch of trees and bushes, it was perfect for when they wanted to be alone to smoke cigarettes, cigars or a blunt or two.

"Whut ye got?" his brother asked.

Arson didn't answer, he didn't want to spoil what he had hidden in his pants pocket. As usual there were two horses still in the pasture, a mare owned by a woman that his uncle had been seeing for years and a mare that had been caught off the range a few months ago. Both were wild and both were unpredictable. Lowering his head and walking into a cluster of bushes, he heard the sound of hooves in the distance.

"Do I gots to ask ye agin?" his brother asked, shoving him.

"Take a seat."

He had discovered the car a few years ago by accident, it was an old, beaten up truck, the paint had rusted off years ago and the tires were flat, the engine was missing and at times he'd hide under the hood when his brother and he played hide and seek. The seats inside were old and the cushion had gone out a long time ago. His brother and he had pulled a log to the truck so that they didn't have to sit on the springs that were poking up through the seats. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he pulled out a small metal box.

"Uh oh," his brother sighed. "whar'd ye git that from?"

"None of your business." Arson said. He pulled out a paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and poured some of the grass onto it, when he rolled the paper up he stuck his tongue on the side that he hadn't rolled, he had learned a long time ago that saliva made paper stick really well. When it was done he handed it to his brother.

"Ye got a light?" his brother asked.

"Yeah, hold on."

Digging into his jacket pocket he pulled out a small butane lighter, the one his father used when his flamethrower was malfunctioning. After handing it to his brother he went to work on making himself one. He had enough grass in the box for three so he pulled out a cigar and emptied it of it's tobacco. When it was empty he started shoving the grass inside, making sure to push it down with his finger. When that was done he turned around, his brother was still holding the lighter in his hand, he hadn't lit his joint yet.

"I a-was waitin' fer ye." his brother said.

"Give me the damn lighter," Arson growled. "was waiting for me my ass!"

"Ye don't got any cigarettes on ye?" Four Way Shot asked. "I a-don't like joints."

"Nope, no cigarettes," Arson said. "muscle up and be a man ya wuss!"

His brother lit the lighter and held his joint underneath it for a few seconds, when it was lit he shoved it in his mouth and took a drag from the end. As usual, he started coughing and wheezing, he'd do this all the time. Flashing his eyes, Arson walked forward and sat next to him. His brother lit the lighter again and allowed him to light his blunt. When he took a drag from the end he didn't cough, he had smoked the stuff before and had gotten use to it.

"Nothin' but a smoke after a hard days work eh." Arson chuckled.

"Yeah, jus' wish ye had a cigarette though," his brother coughed. "I ain't a fan o' this stuff."

"Pussy!" Arson yelled.

"I is not!"

The punch was light but he got the point. Turning the thumb wheel, Arson held his blunt under the flame again. It was almost finished and he didn't want to waste any of it. His brother was half done with his, he was slow at smoking and he kept coughing and gasping for air. He hid a laugh and pulled the blunt back to his mouth and was in the process of taking another drag from it when a light blinded him.

"There they are uncle!" he heard. "I saw them sneak out!"

He was paralyzed, he couldn't move, the end of the blunt fell out of his hand. He saw that his brother had shoved his joint in his mouth, he was struggling to swallow it. He had done that once or twice, the taste was horrible but it was one of the ways to not get caught. His mouth was really dry, he saw four bodies behind the light.

"Slasha, you go back home," he heard. "leave us to deal with our disobedient sons."

His vision had cleared and he could see everything now. His brother's father was holding a flashlight in one of his hands, his hat was in the other and his shoulders were constantly rising and falling, his kerchief was a mess and his shirt wasn't buttoned, his pants were the only thing on him that was on properly. He wasn't wearing his boots or his spurs. His father was wearing just his pants, he had probably been aroused from his sleep and had just grabbed his pants and forgotten about his shirt and his boots. His half sister was wearing just her nightgown and a pair of purple slippers, her hair was a mess. The fourth person that was behind the light was his her father, Blade. He was wearing just a robe, a strap of black held it around him, his hair was a mess, it was all over his face, he wasn't wearing anything on his feet. Once his sister was far enough away his father stepped forward, it was then that he noticed the stick in his hand.

"Tex, Blade," he said. "I am livid with rage right now, please tell me what I should do that wouldn't cause more harm to my son than needed."

"Do the first thang Imma gonna do," his uncle said. "talk to him first."

His brother had slumped in his seat, guilt was written all over his face and he saw tears well up in his eyes. His father was walking towards him slowly, when he got to him he sat down on the log beside him. His father and uncle were standing in front of him, looking down at him, he made himself not look up.

"So..."his father started. "when'd you start smoking?"

"Very clever Torch!" Blade hissed. "Why don't you offer him cookies next?"

"How am I suppose to talk to the kid?" his father yelled. "So, what am I suppose to sit down, bring him on my knee and just ask him what's wrong? If so then I already know what's wrong, he's a troubled youth."

"I am not!"

His father looked down at him fast, his father had been standing really close to him and when he had stood up he had knocked himself against him. His uncle's were staring at him hard, not a word was being said, it was very quiet. Feeling anger rise up in him he sat back down and did his usual, he kicked one of his father's feet.

"I am not," he repeated to himself.

"Then what are you?" his father asked.

"Misunderstood." he replied, letting his head fall.


	10. Part 3: The Smoke Lifts

Sitting down beside his son slowly, placing his hand on his shoulder and gently squeezing it, Torch felt the anger that he had been housing inside him drop. His son looked at his hand and shrugged his shoulders, trying to make his hand fall. His nephew sat off to the side staring at them, his father had three of his arms around him, holding him close to him.

"Misunderstood?" he said. "How so?"

Arson looked up and stared at his father, he had tried to shake his father's hand off of his shoulder to no avail, his father's fingers were clutching at his shoulder, he wasn't squeezing him all that much or digging his fingers in, he felt no pain. Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, he opened his mouth and discovered that he couldn't talk. All he could muster was a tiny squeak.

"Bro?"

Turning himself around, he saw that his uncle had three of his six arms around him, he was being held up against him. His brother's head was turned towards him. His brown eyes still held tears but he had a hard look to his face.

"Well..." he started to say. "uh, you..."

"Spit it out," his father said, he could detect impatience in his voice.

"Why should I?" Arson asked. "I mean, you've never listened before."

"I'm listening now am I not?" his father replied. "Talk!"

Arson felt a knot in his throat, he couldn't remember the last time he had talked to his father about his troubles. He had had a good relationship with his father until three years ago, he had walked in one day and had been yelled at for letting to door slam shut when his father had been sleeping and then had been sent up to his room. A few hours later when he had tried to find out why he had been yelled at and sent to his room he had been yelled at again. Before his father had soured up on him he had played games with him and had made him laugh, it all had changed a few months after his third birthday.

"You...changed on me a few years ago." he said, he was fighting back tears. "one day I came in and the door slammed shut..."

He couldn't say anything more, that was all he could get out. His father had nodded his head then had gotten up and had walked a few steps away. His uncle, Blade, was smoothing his hair back out of his eyes, he could see from the look on his face that he was exhausted.

"Yes," his father said. "I remember that day well."

"You do?" Arson asked.

"Yes, I was sleeping and wasn't feeling well," Torch said. "the door had been opened and closed several times and I had promised myself that the next time it was I'd tell whoever had opened it off."

Torch remembered that day like it had just happened. He had had a very bad headache and his stomach hadn't felt good either, it had felt like there had been a ball bouncing around in it. When he had heard the door slam shut he had jumped up from the couch and had ran into the kitchen. When he had started yelling at his son he had huddled low to the floor, his legs tucked under him like a dog would tuck it's tail in between it's legs. After he had yelled at his son he had grabbed his shoulder and thrown him towards the kitchen doorway and had told him to get his ass in his room.

"You also stopped playing games with me," Arson said. "it was like everything I did you had to yell at me for."

"I was going through a tough time son," his father said, turning around. "I had a lot of medical and technical problems going on with me."

"Whut kind o' problems?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Man problems boy!" Torch snarled. "I'll tell you when you're older."

Arson looked at his father, true he had had a lot of technical problems, in the last two years he had had to get a lot of the wiring in his body replaced, the technician had said that it had been singed badly and should have been replaced when he was struck by the lightning bolt that had created him. A few of the metal parts in his body had to be replaced right after and a few parts to his flamethrower had had to be checked and replaced as well. It had taken two years for everything to be fixed on him. The year after he had spent more time in the bed and less around him, whenever he was around him he had either punished and sent to his room or yelled at.

"I guess I can look past the sneaking out of your room bit," his father said. "you're still grounded and in trouble for running away and I'll look past the smoking bit, just as long as you promise not to do it anymore."

Arson looked at his father distrustfully, he was standing two feet away from him and staring at him, his eyes were lit brightly. He could imagine smoke drifting out of his nostrils and rolling off the top of his shoulders. Opening his mouth a little and stretching his hand out, he half agreed to his father's bargain. Inside his mind he was crossing the fingers on his imaginary hand. Four Way Shot was standing up, as was his father and his bladed uncle. Pretending to be tired, he yawned greatly.

"I think someone needs to be put to bed." his uncle said.

"Mah young un' a-needs to git to bed too." his six armed uncle said.

Waking up at eight, the usual for him, Arson shook his head. It felt like a big dream to him, talking to his father and telling him what was wrong, smoking the blunt and giving his brother a joint, sneaking out of the house at three. Pulling his legs out from under the covers and sliding off of the bed, he walked across the room to the bathroom where he washed his face. When he returned to his bedroom he grabbed the black pants, red shirt and the black leather jacket with the red leather interior. The chained black boots were under the bed so he got down on the floor and reached his hand under. The door opened when he was pulling the first boot on.

"Trying to turn into me?" his half brother asked, jealous.

"No," Arson said. "I happen to like this attire thank you."

"So where'd you get it from?" Slash asked. "Your dad says you stole it."

"I did not!"

Arson got up a little too fast, his boot was half on and he fell flat on his face. Slash stood in the doorway, a sleazy smile on his face. Before he could stop him, his half brother ran forward and grabbed his jacket and pulled it. He tried to stop him but it was too late. He heard a rip then he saw the jacket's sleeves slid off. He was in shock, he really like the jacket. Growling loudly, he jumped up, the boot that had caused him to fall had slipped off, Slash tried to run but he wasn't fast enough. Arson grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the ground.

"Dad!" Slash yelled.

Arson wrapped his hand around one of his half brother's hand's, he squeezed and he heard his half brother scream in pain. Slash dropped the sleeves and turned around, he slapped his hands against Arson's face and kicked his legs up into his groin. Hearing his father running, Arson let his brother go.

"What the hell is going on in here?" his father asked, running into the room.

"He jumped me!" Slash yelled.

"He grabbed my jacket and tore the sleeves off!" Arson screamed.

"I did not!" Slash screamed back. "I wouldn't do such a thing!"

"Boys!"

Arson's father stood above the boys, Slash had crawled in between his legs and was acting like he had hurt him. Thinking his father was going to yell at him, Arson allowed his head to drop. His half brother was sitting up, he had that same sleazy smile on his face. He wished he could be allowed to smack it away, his brother was really annoying at times. One time he had grabbed his father's jacket and had stretched it, when his father had turned around angrily he had pointed at him, blaming him for it.

"I will get your jacket repaired," his father was saying. "Slash, leave your brother alone. His jacket, it his business, not yours, it belongs to him, not you."

Looking at his father strangely, Arson slid the jacket off of him and handed it to him. He felt like crying, his brother had accused him of stealing that jacket when really he had just taken it from a store that was giving it away for free, it had had a sign up on the front saying that everything was free. He grabbed the boot that had fallen off, while he was pulling that and the other boot on he was looking at his half brother, who was getting up.

"Why are you letting him keep that thing?" Slash asked. "He stole it, you should have returned it."

"He got it from a store that was giving away clothes for practically nothing." his uncle said.

His father had turned towards his brother, causing him to fall back down. Standing up, Arson dusted his pants off then stood beside his father, he looked up at him. His father had told him that a technician was coming today to fix his flamethrower, he was glad for that. It felt like forever that it had been wrapped up and broken, he planned on testing it when it was fixed.

"Slash," his father said. "go down stairs and get you some breakfast."

Slash stood up and walked out of the room, he looked over his shoulder a few times and shrugged his shoulders on the way out. Slasha was passing at the time he was walking out of the room and she hugged him gently, he wondered what had happened to Four Way Shot. He had collapsed at the door from exhaustion and had had to be carried up to his room, he hadn't heard a thing about him yet and it was beginning to worry him some.

"You too young man," his father was saying. "go downstairs and get you a bowl of cereal or something, you're still being punished remember."

"Yes dad," Arson said. "I remember."

Walking down the stairs and entering the kitchen, Arson heaved a sigh of relief. Sitting at the table, beside his half sister, was Four Way Shot. He had a bowl of cereal in front of him, which was strange as he'd almost always be fed pancakes or sausages and eggs for breakfast. Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled a chair out and sat down in it. A bowl of Cheerios was sat in front of him and he started eating it, he could see that Four Way Shot was eating the same. Sitting across the table was his younger half brother, Loui.

Loui had curly auburn brown hair and blue eyes, the same color as his father's. His shirt was green and his pants were gold, his favorite colors, and there was a green and gold colored hat with gold bells on the table. Usually he'd walk around with a green blanket, he was only two years old. Two days before he and Four Way Shot had ran away he had been stricken with Chicken Pocks and a really bad fever which had caused him to stay in bed, he had been very sick.

"Momma," he squeaked. "I'm finished."

"Okay sweetie," his mother cooed. "go in the living room and play."

"Okay momma."


	11. Chapter 11

When Arson walked into the living room he saw that Loui had sat himself down beside the box of Lego's, he was building what it looked to be a small corral and he had a box of small medieval figures. He still hadn't figured out his younger half brother, he was more on the quiet and shy side but he did have a comical side. A few weeks before he had ran away Loui had locked himself in a car, when his mother had tried getting him out he had pulled his pants down and had shoved his butt up against the glass of the window.

"Hey Loui," he said. "whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," Loui squeaked. "just trying to build a castle."

Now he saw what his half brother was doing, the corral that he had thought he was building was really the base of the castle. Loui had extraordinary building skills and within ten minutes he had built the castle and a stable. He was now reaching into the box with the figures and pulling out warriors, princes and princess's.

"Wanna play?" his half brother asked, not looking up.

"He'd be able to if he wasn't on parole."

Loui turned around a little too fast, he fell down on one of his elbows and his right foot kicked the stable that had been built alongside the castle, luckily for him just the back wall fell. He smiled warmly when he saw his uncle walk towards him, an unlit cigar in his hand.

"Hi uncle," he exclaimed. "how are you this morning?"

"Pretty good kid." his uncle replied. "Go on and play, your brother has a few things to do."

The day went by pretty quickly, all he had to do was pick up whatever Loui left on the floor, he was famous for leaving his toys spread out after playing with them, and wash the houses windows, he was done by noon and was allowed some free time to read a few of the magazines that had come in the mail. His six armed uncle had gotten a few more magazines in the mail, Horse Illustrated and Equus and two others that he had just filled an application for: Blood Horse and another titled American Cowboy. His father had gotten two magazines in the mail, one he had thrown out and another that he had read then had put down on the table. As usual, Arson grabbed the discarded magazine that had been thrown out.

Four Way Shot had a somewhat easy day, his father had given him just the chickens, pigs and the horses, he had done the rest. For some odd reason his father had wrote, wash the pigs instead of feed them so he had done both, not the best activity he had ever done but his father had written it down and he didn't feel like disobeying him. There was one pig that was his very favorite, Ol' Blackie. After Blackie's sisters had been born his father had walked away, disappointed that the male pig that he most needed wasn't born from the best bred pig on the ranch, fifteen minutes had passed then she had slipped a beautiful black piglet, his sisters had been all white so he had stuck out. After his birth he had carried him upstairs to his room and had put him in the toy chest at the end of his bed that he never used, after three weeks of bottle feeding the piglet he had been discovered. It had been hard work, several nights he had gotten no sleep. Another of his chores had been feeding and looking after the chickens, his father feared that a few were sick. They had two Roosters, the old one that his father called Randy, a red and orange Rooster with black tail feathers, and his favorite, Rudy. One day when his father had gone out he had snuck into the chicken house and had taken one of the eggs from a hen that had just walked out, he had hid it in the top drawer of his dresser and it had hatched a few weeks later. He had returned the Rooster to the flock when it had started cawing, the Rooster had a lovely white body with black tail feathers, the feathers on the neck looked more gray than white. He had fed and watered the horses, even the ones in the pasture, and had taken them out, a few of them were still in the pasture begging to be brought in. Off in the distance was some ominous black clouds.

"Son," his father said. "ye git them hosses in fast, thar's a-storm a-comin'."

Grabbing a halter and lead rope, Four Way Shot ran as fast as he could towards the pasture. When he opened the door a chocolate colored mare with a long white stripe running down her face ran out, knocking him flat against the ground. The mare's name was Belle and she was one of the more advanced horses on the ranch, even though she belonged to his father his uncle, Blade, rode her regularly.

"Belle!"

Looking to the side, still on the ground, the wind having been knocked out of him, Four Way Shot saw the girl running towards the mare with a rope. The mare reared up and pawed at the air with her black hooves, her light mane held in the breeze, she screamed. With a flick of her wrist the girl threw the rope, which landed around the mare's neck. With a lunge the mare ran at her, the girl didn't move, it seemed like she was paralyzed in place, when the mare got to her she jumped up and swung her leg over her back. With a tug, she brought the mare under control and rode her into the barn.

"Son!" he heard his father yell.

The other horses had ran just as quickly out of the pasture, one of them had jumped over his body and another had almost kicked him, thinking it was time to get out of the way he pushed himself up on his elbows and turned around to his side. A mare was heading right for him, one that he had started out riding. Her name was Strawberry, a pretty red roan, her face and legs were red while the rest of her body was light red, a color his aunt had called pink and her mane and tail were red with a few pink and white hairs mixed in. Screaming and trying to get out of the way, he was too late, the mare run over him, one of her hooves grazed his face and another kicked him in the stomach. Once the mare was past he started coughing up blood, his stomach hurt him, reaching his hand up, he touched his face. His vision was blurring up and he was getting dizzy, but not dizzy or blurry enough to not notice the blood on his hand. Rolling his eyes into the back of his head, he fell asleep.

"You told him to go fetch the horses," he heard someone yell. "by any chance did you help him? No, you let my baby boy get kicked!"

"Darlin', I is jus' as worried 'bout mah young un' as ye is," his father said, anger and fear clouding his voice. "he's a-done it plenty o' times so I done thought he was a-fine doin' it this time on his own."

Opening his eyes slowly, his vision still unclear, he turned his head to the side. His father was sitting beside him, one of his hands was against his head, holding something against him. Closing his eyes and turning his head, moaning in pain, he wished that the girl that was yelling would stop, he had a headache and it felt like something in his stomach was broken, he was in a lot of pain.

"Bullshit!" the girl yelled. "Regardless you should have helped, if you would have my son wouldn't be turning his head from side to side moaning in pain."

"Darlin'," his father exclaimed. "hush!"

"I will not," the girl screamed. "this isn't only your son, this is also my son."

Arson was sitting on the couch, his arm resting against the couch's arm, his flamethrower had been repaired and was working but he hadn't gotten a chance to test it out yet. His brother had been brought in wrapped up in his father's shirt at three. His father had said that he had been kicked by a horse, it surely looked it. He had a very deep cut to his face that had been bleeding badly, the bleeding had ceased a few minutes after he had been brought in. The girl that usually slept in his six armed uncle's room had ran in almost on his heels, she had been very frantic, when he had placed his brother on the table she had placed her head on his chest and had listened hard for a heartbeat. The girl, he knew, had been living here for some time, she had a room all to herself but she preferred sleeping in his brother's father's room. One night he had slipped out of his room and looked in through his uncle's window and had seen them kissing and hugging each other. Besides sleeping in his uncle's room, he had followed them one day when they had rode their horses out into the pasture, stopping at a stream long enough to let the horses drink, their favorite spot was on a hill in the far left of the pasture, where the fence almost met the cliffs, were they would, at times, have sex.

"He'll a-be fine," his uncle said. "he's up an'..."

"Yeah, he's awake, but do we know about any internal injuries he has?" the girl asked, getting angrier by the second. "He was kicked in the stomach for fuck sakes! Who do we know that something in his stomach hasn't ruptured or something?"

"Angel!" his uncle yelled. "If somethin' in his belly would o' ruptured he a-wouldn't be awake now."

Slash, Slasha and Loui had been ushered to another room, for some reason he had been forgotten, his father had walked past several times with the phone pressed up hard against his head, trying to get in contact with a doctor. The girl, whose name was Angela, had screamed for a doctor to be gotten to their house quickly after Four Way Shot had started coughing and wheezing, everyone in the house was running around, frantic with fear and confusion. His aunt had gotten his brother a few towels and his muscular uncle had grabbed a bucket and some water. Everyone else had sat in the living room, demanding what had happened.

"P...pa?" Four Way Shot squeaked.

"Hush son," his father said soothingly. "yer a-fine, yer ma an' I is ver worried 'bout ye."

"Mah ma?" Four Way Shot whispered. "I ain't a-got a ma."

"You do sweetie."

Turning his head to the left and looking at the girl that he had seen riding Belle into the barn earlier, he felt great confusion. His head felt really heavy and he felt he headache get worse. The girl was sitting beside him, one of her hands was clasping one of his gently, with her other hand she gently smoothed it over his head.

"I a-don't understand." he said. "Mah pa done told me that I a-was dropped off by a giant chicken with gold feathers an' black hair on it's head."

"Is that what your dad told you?" the girl who had called herself his mother laughed. "No such thing sweetie, I am your mother."

"But..." he sputtered. "but..."

"Son," his father spoke up. "yer ma was no chicken or pig or goat, yer ma is this here lil' lady."

"You telling me that not only have you put our son in danger but told him that I wasn't his mother? That a chicken with gold feathers and black hair was?" the girl said, she was holding her anger in as much as she could.

"I a-told him that to protect him." his father sighed.

"From who?" the girl asked, standing up.

"You..."


	12. Chapter 12

Looking up at his mother, who was sitting next to him, Four Way Shot remembered the fight that had happened a few hours before. When his father had said that he was trying to protect him from his mother his mother had sprang up quickly and shoved him against the wall. She had stood over him and had poked him in the shoulder a few times in her anger, her yells of anger had filled the whole house. His half sister was still upstairs, as were Slash and Loui, he could see them from the corner of his eyes looking over the stairwell.

"Ma," he said, swallowing hard. "ye mad at me?"

"No honey," she said. "I'm mad at your father yes but not at you."

"Ye gonna..." Four Way Shot choked up, he couldn't speak, he was stunned and scared that his mother would start yelling at him.

"Four Way," his mother said, turning towards him. "you don't have to be afraid to talk to me, say what's on your mind."

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, for some reason he started shivering. Her hand was tender and sweet, as were her eyes. He could tell that he had gotten his eyes from his father, they were an exact match in color, her eyes were darker and had a flicker of fire in them. He hadn't gotten his hair from his mother either, it was the same color as his father's.

"Are ye gonna leave mah pa?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"No honey," his mother laughed. "we had a fighting, that's all, I'm sure he didn't mean to keep you to himself."

"Ye know," he said, tapping his fingers on his right hand against the fingers of his left hand. "I done runned away an' all..."

"I am aware of it," his mother said, pulling her head to the side. "I believe your father has put enough punishment on your shoulders."

"Ye ain't a-mad?" he asked, looking up.

"Course I am!" she exclaimed. "You know what happened when your father found you not in bed or in the house or the barn? He woke the whole damn house up! I wanted to go with him to bring you back but he was insistent that this was between father and son."

"How long have ye been a-datin' mah pa?" Four Way Shot asked, changing the subject.

"Ten years," she replied quickly. "long time isn't it?"

Arson looked up from the chair he was sitting on, after the girl that had been discovered to be Four Way Shot's mother had jumped and pushed his uncle to the wall he had been ushered to the kitchen were he still was. His father had gone to the store with some of the others and had left him behind, the only ones in the house were he, Four Way Shot, his half sister and half brothers and Four Way Shot's mother. Four Way Shot's father, he could see, was walking up the stairs, he had gone out after the fight with the woman.

"Uncle!" he whispered urgently.

"Arson," his uncle whispered back.

"It's cold in here." he said, shivering a little.

"I'll a-turn the heat up." his uncle said.

His uncle walked over a dial on the wall, it controlled the heat, when he reached his hand up he twisted it three times, Arson could see that he set it from seventy-six to seventy-eight. When his uncle turned around and walked back to the fridge to get something to drink, Arson could tell how tired his was. He was limping a little and one of his hands was cut badly, it was wrapped up in his kerchief and it was soaked in his blood. Sliding from the chair and walking over, he grabbed his uncle's hand.

"Your hurt!" he exclaimed.

"Shur is!" his uncle replied, he was smiling down at him. "Done got mah hand a-stuck in the wire on one o' the fences."

Pulling his uncle's hand gently, leading him away from the fridge and towards the chair, Arson intended to clean his uncle's hand. He had done it to himself several times, all he needed was some bandages, some neosporin and that stuff that his father had called Hydrogen Peroxide, it burned a little but it got the cut clean. His uncle followed, a glass of lemonade in one of his unhurt hands.

"You stay here," Arson said, pushing his uncle into the chair. "I'll be back."

Turning around and walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs, passing his half sister and half brothers, he headed for the bathroom that held all of the medical emergency stuff. His father had shown him the stuff when he was two after he had sliced his knee open after he had fallen off a tree, the branch that he had fallen off of had snagged his pants, if he wouldn't have turned he would have hurt more than just his knee. When he had started struggling to get down Four Way Shot had shot the branch, both it and he had fallen to the ground together, the branch had landed a few inches to the left of his body. While he was upstairs he didn't hear the clicks of his uncle's spurs as he walked out of the kitchen.

Hearing the click of spurs, Four Way Shot and his mother turned towards the kitchen doorway. His father had walked out after the fight with his mother and they had heard the sound of horses hooves against the dirt as he rode away, that had been two hours ago. Upon seeing his father, Four Way Shot tried slipping off the couch but was stopped by his mother who grabbed him under the arms and pulled him on top of her lap, she wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him close.

"Imma gonna need some help movin' the cows an' sheep to pasture," he said.

"A-when?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Soon," his father said. "in jus' a few days."

"Kin I a-help ye?" Four Way Shot asked his father, he was still hanging off his mother's lap regardless the arm she had around him. His father was in front of him, taking his hat off.

"I dunno son," his father said. "yer ma an' I will a-think 'bout it."

His mother had tightened her hold on him but he was still low enough to grab his father's hat and throw it over his shoulder like he usually did. His father smiled and gave him a hug, it was then that he noticed the cut to his hand. The kerchief that was around it was green with his blood and it looked like it was about ready to start dripping. Reaching down and grabbing his father's hand, he pulled it up.

"Whut done happened to yer hand pa?" he asked.

"Damn Six Shooter!" his mother exclaimed. "What happened, you get bit by another rabid Coyote?"

His mother was referring to the time a few years ago, when he had been only six, when his father had been walking home with a bag of tomatoes from the home garden. A coyote had ran out at him and had grabbed his arm, biting down hard enough to tear both his shirt and his wrist. He had used the bag on the coyote, driving her away with the tomatoes, then he had ran inside and grabbed his Winchester rifle, the coyote hadn't gone far, in fact it had only ran to the parking lot were it had started going in circles. After he had killed and dragged the animal to a safe distance away from everyone, his father had rushed inside and had grabbed a syringe full of medicine, within a few hours his wrist had swollen to twice its size and had gotten red and purple. The whole week he couldn't use his hand for nothing. The week after he had been bit he had told him that if he ever saw an animal foaming at the mouth, chasing its tail or just not acting right to stay away from it.

"Nah, I just got mah hand a-stuck in one o' those wires on the fence I done built around the train tracks." his father said. "I had to a-check it."

"Four Way Shot, I want you to go play." his mother sighed. "I need to clean and dress you father's hand before it gets infected."

Hearing his brother run down the stairs, he knew it was Arson, he breathed heavy whenever he was going up or down the stairs and at times the bottom step would trip him up. This time he didn't trip, he ran around the couch. In his hand was a box. Four Way Shot's father smiled and patted him on the shoulder, his mother placed him down on the floor and opened the box. Inside was a few wraps of bandaging, some gauze, Hydrogen Peroxide and Neosporin, all the items needed to clean his father's wound. His mother placed her hand on his father's but before she started unwrapping the kerchief she turned towards him and his brother.

"I need to talk to your dad about the drive," his mother said soothingly. "I want you and your siblings to go outside and play."

His half siblings had heard her clearly as she had yelled it out, they came running down the stairs. Arson and Four Way Shot walked out of the living room into the kitchen then outside with their heads down. When Four Way Shot stepped outside he saw that the black ominous clouds that had been off in the distance a few hours before were now over them. The sun was still out, a few rays falling out of the clouds hit his face. His half siblings were in the barn so he and his brother followed them.

"Is she suppose to do that?" they heard once they were in the barn.

"I don't know," their half brother, Slash, exclaimed. "I thought horses were suppose to sleep standing."

"Looks like she's about to explode!" Slasha exclaimed.

"Ka-boom!" Loui yelled, jumping up and down.

Four Way Shot got the the stall first, Mae was lying down on her side, her shoulder was wet with sweat and she was breathing hard. Thinking fast, thinking back to when Xooti had been born, he ran to the tack room and took out a bucket that had a few towels, a pair of scissors and some medicine to help with the umbilical cord when it snapped. When he got back to the stall, he gently pushed his half sister out of the way, he opened the stall door and walked in, closing it behind him.

"You're going to get in trouble!" his half sister yelled.

"Nah, I done this a-fore." he replied, sitting down beside the mare.

"Bro," Arson said, clearing his throat. "you want me to get your dad? Maybe he can help."

Not hearing an answer from his brother, a clap of thunder hid it, Arson turned around and ran out of the barn. He saw that the van his father had gotten into a few hours before was pulling into the driveway, pulling his eyes away from it he tore across the yard to the porch were he pushed the door open, it slammed shut when he let it go.

Arson took off in such a hurry, there was still a cloud of dust were he had stood. When the mare started pulling her front legs up, whinnying loudly then plopping back down to her knees, he knew it was time. Holding his breath he looked at her tail and saw the two front legs of the foal. Ten minutes of pushing, Mae had half of her new foal out, before the foals back legs were out he started kicking. He heard his half siblings moan in disgust as the wet foal started falling over the straw. Grabbing a towel, he started drying the foal, it wasn't close enough the Mae for her to clean it off, she was still down on her side.

"Alrighty, stop yer pushin'!" they heard. "Imma comin' as fas' as I a-can."

"Pa!" Four Way Shot screamed.

Mae stood up a few seconds later, with a shake of her body all the straw that had attached itself to her fell off. Her ears flattened against her head when she saw Four Way Shot rubbing her foal with the towel. His father rounded the corner when she screamed and rushed at him, teeth bared and ready to tear. Turning himself around and flattening himself against the wall, the mare just missed his shoulder.

"Son!" his father screamed. "Git out o' thar right now!"

Turning around and running to the other side of the stall, Four Way Shot tried dodging the hooves that kicked out at him. The foal had ran in between the mares legs, she wasn't kicking it, she was trying to get him away from her baby. Pulling his leg over the board and pulling his body out of the foaling stall into the stall next door, he was free. When he turned around he saw the mare lick and nudge her foal. The foal was a dark champagne, which would probably lighten up to a light amber when he got as big as her other foal. The tail was a dark shade of brownish fluff, as was the mane, the rest of the body was a light brown color, way lighter than chestnut and bay. He had no socks or stockings, even his face was bare. The eyes, he could see, were blue. Hearing his father clear his throat, he turned around and looked at him.

"Whut was ye a-doin' in thar?" he asked angrily.

"I a-was helpin' Mae foal," Four Way Shot said.

"Ye remember whut happened the las' time?" his father asked, stepping into the stall.

"N...yessah." Four Way Shot lied.

"That thar mare done took some o' mah back off with her teeth!" his father yelled.

"I a-remember." Four Way Shot said, looking down.

"Ye know whut could o' happened?" his father asked, looking down at him. "Mae could o' not accepted that thar foal! An' ye a-know whut would o' happened next? That thar foal would o' died cause I can't a-stay up all night feedin' it. An' ye can't either!"

Looking up at his father, Four Way Shot could see the same anger his mother had had in her eyes when he had told her that he was protecting him by keeping her being his mother a secret. Everyone in his family was in the barn, and everyone was shaking their heads except for Arson and his mother, who looked at him in sorrow and understanding.

"I a-meant no harm pa," he said. "I was jus' tryin to..."

"Git out o' mah barn!" his father yelled. "Now!"

Four Way Shot waited too long, his father ripped his belt off of his pants and grabbed his arm, with a quick kick, Four Way Shot got loose and ran off. When he turned back he saw that his father was on his knees, two of his hands between his legs, holding the area that he had kicked. Feeling tears in his eyes, he noticed that he still had the towel in his hands. Feeling great anger swell inside him, he threw it to the ground.

"I a-don't wanna be a cowboy no more!" he screamed as loud as he could.

Turning tail to the barn and tearing his way across the yard, he slammed the door so hard when he ran in the house than it made an echo in the yard. When he took to the stairs he skipped a few, falling down a few times before he reached the top. When he did he ran to his bedroom and slammed the door shut as hard as he could, it opened and slammed into his face, breaking his nose, still angry he grabbed the doorknob and closed it gently, locking it afterwards. Seeing his bed, he ran to it and flopped down on it, pushing his face into the pillow. His nose was bleeding badly and he didn't care, with his face in the pillow he started crying.

Tearing himself away from the horse that was busy grooming her baby, the foal had just finished drinking its first milk and was trying to get down to sleep, Arson began walking out of the barn. His uncle was still in the barn, as was Four Way Shot's mother, almost everyone was in the stall, comforting him. Walking across the yard and into the house, being careful to not slam the door. The house was very quiet so he was able to hear his brother cry in his room. He understood what was happening, his father had done the same thing. Walking up the stairs, he headed for his room. His brother's door had a poster that said Horse Xing on it, it was crooked and looked like it was about to fall off of the nail that it hung from. Swallowing and straightening his shirt, he had taken his jacket off a few hours ago, he knocked on the door.

"Bro..." he said when his brother didn't answer. "can I come in? It's Arson."

His brother neither answered him or opened the door, the crying had gotten louder and he could detect his brother ripping off his clothes and throwing them to the side, all the while saying that he didn't want to be a cowboy anymore. Feeling tears well up in his eyes, lowering his head and letting his hand fall to his side, he heard dresser drawers open and close. A few seconds later he heard everyone walk in through the door. He hoped they couldn't hear his brother's cries or the dressers being opened then slammed shut.

Four Way Shot heard his brother, not intending to answer the door he sat up on the bed. His kerchief stared up at him, wrapping his hand around it he ripped it from his neck and threw it to the floor. Wrapping his hands around his shirt, still crying and still bleeding badly, he tore his shirt off, each and every button flew against the walls. He stripped himself of his pants and threw his boots against the door. He grabbed his hat and threw it in the clothes hamper. Grabbing a dresser drawer and pulling it open, standing with just his underwear on, he started searching for a new pair of clothes.

"I a-swear! I a-meant it! I a-don't wanna be a cowboy no more!" he said angrily.

Searching through the top drawer found him just a white t-shirt so he pulled it out and slipped it over his head. When he searched through the other drawers he found a lone pair of normal blue jeans, with nothing else to wear he slipped them on. He didn't have another pair of shoes so he went barefoot. When he slammed the last drawer he jammed his fingers.

"Fuck! I a-kin't do nothin' right!" he screamed. "Jus' like mah pa says! I's useless!"

His nose still hurt him, it was still bleeding, small drops of blood were already on his white t-shirt. When he jammed his fingers in the dresser he pulled them out quickly, tearing a nail out in the process. Not caring about the pain, he flopped back on his bed and pulled his legs up to his chin, he looked at the wall, tears and blood still streaming down his face.


	13. Chapter 13

His nose felt like it had fallen off a few hours later, it was raining heavily outside and he could hear someone downstairs cooking, he could smell cookies and brownies. Looking over at his horse clock, he saw that it was just an hour past dinner time. Pushing himself up and shaking his head, swinging his legs over the beds side, he saw a note taped to his bed. Grabbing it and opening it up, he saw that it was a note from his mother. Throwing the note into the trash and getting up, he walked to his bathroom and looked in the mirror. It looked like he had been in a fight. His nose was on one side of his face, red as can be, and his cheeks and lips were red and swollen. The part under his nose all the way down to his chin was bloody, there was blood on his shirt.

"I a-look like I done hit mah face on a rock!" he said to himself.

"Looks more like you slammed the door in your face."

Turning around as fast as he could, falling off the stool that he was on, he saw his uncle. His uncle was wearing a muscle shirt, it was slightly burned and had a burn smell to it, and blue jeans. His flamethrower was lying against his side, in his hand was a glass of what it looked to be pink lemonade.

"Yeah, I a-did." Four Way Shot said, pulling an arm up and hiding his face.

"You should get you ma to fix that," his uncle said, walking forward. "she's a wonder when it comes to bandaging."

Seeing his uncle take a drink from the glass like it was nothing, he was leaning up against the door frame, made his stomach rumble loudly. Letting his shoulders fall, remembering what happened a few hours before, he got up and walked past him. He felt ashamed of himself, he had kicked his father in a place he had said he would never kick. Seeing his shirt, pants and boots still thrown on the floor, he went towards them, intending to pick them up.

"Must have been mad," his uncle said, he was looking over his shoulder. "tearing your clothes right off your body like they were nothin'."

"Yeah, I a-was mad." he replied, not thinking. "said a lot o' thangs I a-didn't mean either."

"That's normal," his uncle said. "I do the same."

Turning to his uncle, feeling guilt and sadness fill him, he felt more tears well in his eyes. His uncle knew more about anger than him, he had been angry a few times but not as much as he did a few hours ago. It scared him, bending over and picking up his shirt, he saw a few of the buttons under his bed. Getting down on his knees and reaching under the bed, he tried to get them, they were out of reach so he abandoned them.

"Don't worry about your shirt," his uncle said, walking out of the room. "your ma will fix it."

Seeing his uncle leave the room made him feel even more guilty, sliding onto his bed he felt more tears flow down his face. He wondered how his father was, if he was okay, if he was still mad at him and the biggest question he wanted to get an answer to was if he was still allowed to be near the horses. Taking a big gulp of air down, he stood up and collected the rest of his clothes. His boots were scuffed up, his hat was bent a little at the brim, his pants were ripped at the zipper and kneecaps and his shirt's buttons had been ripped out. Placing everything on his bed then stepping out of his room, he looked down the hallway. His father's room was down the hall and to the left of the stairs, his mother, he was sure, had moved all of her stuff into his room, her room use to be on the right of the stairs. Sighing hard, taking a step forward, he began walking down the hallway towards his father's room.

"He didn't mean it Six Shooter," he heard his mother say. "he was just mad."

"Ye gonna keep takin' up fer him ever time he a-does somethin' bad darlin?" he heard his father say. "If ye would o' come with me to retrieve our young un' after he done runned away ye would o' prolly just told me to leave him alone, that he a-was jus' expandin' his territory. Right?"

"No, Six Shooter," his mother said. "even I know what he did was wrong, running away I mean."

Pressing himself against the door, trying to hear everything his parents said, Four Way Shot didn't hear his uncle walking up behind him. When his uncle tapped him on his shoulder he jumped and knocked the door open. This uncle, he had several, was wearing jeans with red, yellow, blue and green paint splashes on the front, sides and back, he was wearing a blue shirt with a yellow sun painted on the front. His red brown hair shined in the light from the ceiling. He had blue eyes and a red lipsticked smile. He had paint splashed shoes on his feet.

"Son, come in," his father said. "yer ma an' I a-was jus' talkin' 'bout ya."

Picking himself up, nodding at his uncle as he walked down the stairs, his shirt still had blood on the front, he wished he would have put on a new shirt, feeling himself blush he walked towards his parents. His mother was the first to grab him, she held him for a long time, when she let him go some of the blood from his shirt had rubbed off on hers. When he went to hug his father he thought twice, instead he patted his shoulder.

"Sit down," his father said.

His mother, once he plopped down between them, pulled his shirt off. She went to the bathroom and started the sinks faucet, she was probably cleaning the blood from it. It had hurt when the collar of his shirt brushed over his nose, he felt another bleed start. Pulling his hand up to his face, he hid his still red and bloodied mouth, nose and chin. His father slid off the bed and went to the bathroom, when he returned he was holding a wet cloth.

"Move yer hands son," he said. "this ain't a-gonna hurt but fer a minute."

His father had been half right, when he pushed the cloth up against his face both his nose and he screamed in pain. His mother ran out the bathroom and slid onto the bed, she placed her arms around him and held him tight, all the while saying that it was okay and that the pain would go away soon.

"Is this a-whut is a-feels like when ye break yer nose!" he screamed, still in pain.

"Yes son," his father said. "ye jus' hold still so's I can re-align it with all o' yer face."

He didn't have enough time to ask why he had to hold still, all he knew was that when his father touched his nose with his fingers it hurt even more. He thrashed his head about, asking and pleading for his father to leave him alone. With four of his hands, his father held his arms down, his mother held his head still as his father re-aligned his nose to its correct position. When the deed was done his face was flooded with tears.

"That a-hut!" he screamed.

"Well, why did ye break yer nose in the first place?" his father said, hiding a laugh.

"Sweetie, what do you expect, when you break a nose it's suppose to hurt." his mother said.

"Have ye a-broken yer nose ma?" he asked, turning towards her.

With a warm smile he mother brought the cloth over his face, he was still in some pain but not as much as before. His father sat down beside him and patted his knee, his nose had started pouring blood when his father had re-aligned it and his hand was bloody. Swallowing and sighing hard at the same time, he reached over and hugged him tightly.

"Yes, I have broken my nose." she said, patting him on the head. "I've also had someone else purposely break it."

"Why would anyone wanna hurt ye?" Four Way Shot asked, pulling his head towards her. "Yer nice."

"I wasn't all that nice when I was in my early teens sweetie." she said.

"Imma sorry I done kicked ye today pa," he said to his father. "I a-didn't mean it."

"An' I a-didn't mean to be so hard on ye today," his father said, hugging him just as tightly. "I done saw that mare rushin' at ye, bein' all protective o' her young un' that it a-sparked mah need to protect mah young un'."

"I luv ye pa," Four Way Shot said, putting his head to his father's shirt gently.

"An' I a-luv ye," his father said, smiling a little. "now quit a-rubbin' yer nose against mah shirt! Yer a-gittin' it all bloody!"

Pushing himself away from his father, he started laughing. His father's shirt had a blood stain on it were he had put his head. His laugh must have been contagious because his mother started laughing. His father looked at them then he looked down at his shirt. When he looked up he rolled his eyes and sighed loudly then started undoing the buttons. When he took it off he didn't replace it with a new one.

"You know how happy your father was when you was brought into the room as a baby?" his mother asked.

"Oh no, please a-don't start up with all o' that now." his father exclaimed, he jumped up and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

"You wanna know what happened when you was born?" his mother asked, smoothing a hand over his head and tickling one of his ears.

"I shur do!" Four Way Shot exclaimed.

Four Way Shot's eyes grew wide when his mother took a book out from the dresser, it had on the front a stick that said Four Way Shot's First Year in red letters. He climbed onto her lap and gently rubbed the back of his head against her arm, she wrapped a free hand around his waist and hugged him tightly.

"When you were born you didn't cry," she said. "everyone thought that you wasn't alive, your aunt took you and wrapped you up in a blanket and took you out the room before I could see you."

"Did mah aunt a-bring me back in?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Yes, she was out of the room for ten minutes, when she returned she was very happy." his mother said, smiling from ear to ear. "You never cried, when she brought you back into the room your father was the first to see and hold you."

"He a-did!" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "Whut'd I do?"

"You smiled and grabbed his nose with your little hand." his mother laughed. "I had to nudge your father with my elbow for him to give you to me, so that I could hold you."

Four Way Shot was allowed to look at all of the photos in the book, the ones that he liked the most were his father holding him, him being placed on Strawberry's back at age five and a half months and the ones when he was sleeping. He wondered if his brother had a book similar to the one he was looking at, his mother had mentioned that his half sister and half brother's had baby books documenting them from age zero to now, the most recent photo in the book was of him jumping on his father's back from a few months back.

"I have a few tapes of you when you was a baby, being born and all." his mother was saying. "I also have a few tapes of you and your dad playing outside."

"He ain't a-ready fer the birthin' tapes."

Pulling his head up, he had a headache and his nose still hurt him, he didn't know how long he and his mother had sat on the bed, he didn't know how long he had listened to her tell him stories about how he started walking at eight months, his first meal and his first word, all he knew was that it had stopped raining and the moon and the stars were out. His father was standing outside the door to his bedroom, a cookie in his hand.

"Ye ain't had dinner yet," his father said when he noticed that his son was looking at the cookie hungrily. "once ye eat, ye can have one."

"Whut's was fer dinner?" Four Way Shot asked, his mouth was open a little bit and he was smiling a little.

"Meatloaf," his father said. "ye go git some, that way ye'll stop a-droolin' on mah bed!"

Four Way Shot was two feet out of the room when he stopped, with an evil smile on his face he turned around and ran at his father, his father didn't know what hit him. One minute he was on his feet, the next he was on the floor. When he looked up he saw that the cookie he had been eating was in his son's hand. With a growl, he stood up.

"Give me that!" he said sternly.

"Ye gotta catch me first!" his son exclaimed.

He hadn't been nicknamed Speedy Gonzales Jr. for nothing, his father took one step and he ran ten. Down the stairs and around the couch, he made his father chase him all over the house. He began to tire when he ran into his father's bedroom, he wasn't even near the bed when his father wrapped an arm around him. Breathing hard, he let his head rest against his father's still unclothed chest. His father patted his head then grabbed the cookie that hadn't been touched from his hand. It was then that he noticed that he had ripped a nail out. The bleeding had stopped, the pain hadn't. When his father put some Hydrogen Peroxide on it need crunched his face up and tried pulling his hand away.

"Ye stay still!" his father said. "Ye ain't a-gonna git better that way."

"But pa," he moaned. "It a-huts!"

"Jus' fer a minute or two," his father said. "it a-won't hurt ye fer much longer."

His father was right this time, his finger stopped hurting after a minute and a half, his father applied the neosporin gently to the end of his finger then wrapped a band-aid around out. Before he set him down he gave him a kiss and a hug, he repayed the favor by doing the same.

"I gots to change mah clothes after dinner." Four Way Shot thought to himself.

When he walked down the stairs a few minutes later he had a smile on his face, he still didn't know if he was still banned from the barn and he still didn't know if it was okay for him to ride a horse or not, but he was happy that he and his father had made up. When he walked into the living room he saw that Arson was sitting on the couch, he had a magazine in his hand. When he saw his brother walk past he slid from the couch and ran up to him.

"Dude! I stood by the door calling for you for a long time earlier." his brother exclaimed. "How come you didn't answer?"

"I a-was mad," Four Way Shot said, stepping into the kitchen. "I a-wasn't thinkin'."

"Dude, after you're done eating come to my room," Arson whispered. "you gotta see what's in this magazine!"

"I'll a-look at it after I eat." Four Way Shot promised.

Walking into the kitchen he saw that Slasha's mother, Judy, was sitting in a chair, reading a novel. Beside her was a athletic looking woman with curly dark brown hair and pretty brown eyes, she had highlights of chestnut and blonde in her hair that really went well with her eyes. She was wearing a black skirt with white flowers sewn in and a black and gold shirt, a necklace of gold and silver was around her neck. In her lap was her son, Slash, who looked green in the face.

"Whut's a-wrong with him?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Oh, hi Four Way," Slash's mother jumped. "surprised me."

"The meatloaf didn't fare well with him," Arson whispered. "he got real sick after one bite."

"I'll have you your dinner in a minute." Slasha's mother said, standing up after marking her spot in the novel she was reading.

Sitting down at the table, Four Way Shot clamped his teeth down on his lower lip, he forced himself to not laugh. His half brother was looking up at his, his spikes were out and his mouth was half open, he could see his tongue move from side to side in his mouth. When his mother wasn't looking at him, Slash raised his middle finger at him.

"Here you go," Slasha's mother said.

Four Way Shot ate as much as he could, just a tiny bit of his meatloaf and his beans were left on his plate when he decided that he had had enough. His half sister had walked into the kitchen while he was eating, she was still in the kitchen looking after Slash. He was still sick from the meatloaf. He didn't know what his half brother's problem was, he liked the taste of it and had eaten almost all of it, he had forgotten about the beans and the potato on his plate. Arson joined him when he walked out of the kitchen, he practically pushed him up the stairs to his bedroom where he closed the door gently.

"Whut's the hurry?" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "I jus' got through eatin' mah dinner!"

"Like I said," Arson whispered evilly. "you gotta see this magazine!"

Arson walked over to his bed, his bed was a normal twin, as was his, but the sheets were different. He had horse bedsheets on his, his pillow case matched it. His father had normal blue sheets and pillow cases on his bed. His brother, on the other hand, had had to get his sheets made by someone, they were very expensive. On the sheets was a campfire that had begun to spark the nearby trees. His pillows matched them perfectly. He didn't know how he and his fiery brother got along so well, they were total opposites. His brother had lava lamps, lightning plasma ball lamps, and posters of forests on fire on his walls. Besides the posters he also had little glass and metal figurines of dragons on the top of his dresser. His room was totally different, he had posters of horses, horse figurines, horse hair bracelets, and he had a metal rearing horse with a lamp shade connected to it's head on his dresser. Shaking his head, he walked over to his brother's bed and sat down on it, his brother was pulling a paper bag out from under his mattress.

"Whut ye got?" he asked.

"This!" his brother exclaimed.

His brother threw a magazine at him, one look made him want to start jumping just like he had when he had been drinking. On the front flap was a woman with barely any clothes on. She was a blonde woman and she was just wearing a pair of white undergarments. A smile spread across his face as he turned the front flap, the front of the magazine had made him jump, the first page made him feel like he was about leap out of his pants. One the second page was a photo of a woman waist up, she was wearing nothing, her long black hair flowing down her shoulder and a smile to die for on her face.

"Disgusting ain't it?" his brother was saying. "Made me sick just looking at the photos!"

Four Way Shot wasn't listening, he was turning the pages and looking at the photos, his eyes growing wider with every single one of them. When he turned the page he was on all the fun began. He was at the middle of the magazine, a post leaped up at him, a woman with red hair and blue eyes, wearing nothing on her top half, her hair was hiding her breasts, her underpants were light brown. In one of her hands was a Colt. 64 and the caption said _even a cowboy can't resist_.

"Bro..." he heard Arson say. "you aren't...please don't tell me...you're pissing your pants!"


	14. Chapter 14

His legs pulled up to his chest, arms around them holding them in place, Four Way Shot felt very embarrassed and scared. His brother had ran out of his room screaming and yelling for his father when he had noticed that he had, what he thought, urinated on his bed. The magazine that he had been reading had fallen to the floor when he had slid from the bed, everything afterwards was a blur, he hardly remembered what happened next it had happened so fast. His father had ran in and had scooped him up and had carried down the hall to his bedroom and had taken him into his bathroom.

"That zeen ye done read," his father had said. "that ain't fer young un's alrighty."

He had done nothing but rest his head on his father's shoulder, all the while his father had been cleaning him. When his father had finished washing him he had wrapped him in a towel and had carried him into his room where he was now. His old clothes had been wrapped in a plastic bag and thrown in the laundry he was sure so his father dressed him in a red and blue striped long sleeve button up shirt, black and white jeans, a black belt and a brown hat, before he had left he had pulled out a pair of brown leather chaps from his lower dresser drawer and had slipped them over his pants, his boots were brown, the same color as the pair that was probably downstairs by the door, and the spurs behind them were gold with a silver wheel.

"A-heh heh heh a-heh heh heh a-heh heh heh," he heard outside his door. "aw did someone go wee on his brother's bed. Poor baby! A-heh heh heh a-heh heh heh!"

"Leave me alone!" he screamed. "I a-want to be alone!"

The door must not have been locked as she slowly pushed it open and ran in. Rolling his eyes and pulling his hands up to his face, hiding it, he did all he could to ignore her. She jumped on his bed and started jumping on it, he wished he could reach up and throw her out of his room, she was making him angry. The last straw was when she jumped up high and instead of landing on her feet, she landed on her knees, one of them kicked him between the legs.

"Will ye git out o' mah room!" he exclaimed. Doing something he had never done in his life, he shoved his half sister off of him and off of his bed with all four of his hands. When she landed on the floor she looked up at him, surprised. Not through with her, anger roaring through his body, he jumped off of his bed and slapped his top left hand against her head, hard! Her head smacked his dresser hard, he stood over her, all four of his hands balled up in fists. Pulling her head up, she started crying.

"You hit me!" she cried, she pulled her hand up to the side of her face that he had slapped a minute before, it was red and swollen and wet from her tears. "I'm telling my dad and my mom that you hit me!"

"Go ahead," he growled down at her. "I'll a-tell mah pa an' mah ma that ye knee'd me!"

His half sister looked at him coldly for a few minutes, fear and confusion clouding her eyes, her long copper and gray hair falling over her face and over her shoulders, it was all over the place, it looked like she had stuck her finger in the electrical sockets in his room. With an exasperated cry, she jumped up and pushed him away with her shoulder. He stood where he had been pushed and watched her run out of his room with her hands over her face, crying into them, Four Way Shot had a wicked smile on his face. It wasn't long before his brother, Arson, walked in his room, taking her place.

"What the hell did you do to her?" he asked, surprised. "Never knew her to run so fast!"

"She a-got whut she deserved!" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "She a-knee'd me!"

"Ouch," his brother said, sliding down on his bed. "she practically tore her father's door down trying to get in, probably in there right now spinning a wild, untrue yarn."

"Imma gittin' tired o' her chasin' me an' gittin' me in trouble fer thangs I ain't done!" Four Way Shot yelled.

"Four Way Shot!"

Turning towards the door, both boys saw their uncle, Slasha's father, run in. His spikes were out and his mouth was open, showing an evil, sinister smile, his hands were in fists, he had gotten hands a few years ago for use around the house. Their half sister was behind him, hugging him tightly and still crying, it looked like she had her head buried into his shirt. He was wearing a black and red hippy shirt, black jeans and black shoes, his hair was down, it was hanging over his shoulders.

"What is this I am hearing about you hitting your sister?" his uncle demanded.

"I a-didn't hit mah half sister," Four Way Shot growled. "I a-slapped her, she a-was gittin' on mah nerves!"

"A slap is the same thing as a hit young man!" his uncle exclaimed. "Look at her cheek young man! That will most definitely bruise up!"

"Good!" Four Way Shot screamed. "Imma glad it a-will bruise, she a-deserved it fer kneein' me!"

"Whut's a-goin' on in here?"

His father walked in slowly, the doorway was crowded now, three of his uncle's were trying to see what was going on and his mother was also trying to walk in. When his father saw his half sister's cheek he turned towards him with anger and frustration in his eyes. He could detect a whistle and some wheezing coming from his father, the room had grown very quiet. Before he knew it his father was rushing at him.

"She a-knee'd me!" he repeated when his father wrapped an arm around him.

"Leave him alone!" Arson screamed.

Arson jumped from the bed and grabbed his father from behind, his father swung around, trying to catch him and pull him off, Arson was too quick for him. He pushed his uncle towards the door and stood between his brother and his uncle. Four Way Shot's mother had, somehow, gotten into the room and was walking towards them.

"Arson," she said gently. "calm down."

"Leave my brother alone!" he repeated. "Slasha came in here and knee'd him and it got him angry."

"Ever'one out!" his uncle yelled. "Lemee talk to mah son fer a lil' while."

Everyone but Four Way Shot's mother and Arson left the room, Slasha's father gave Four Way Shot a warning look and pointed at him, saying that he was watching him closely. When Four Way Shot's father turned to Arson he half closed his eyes and made a motion with his hand for him to get out. Sighing hard, he hugged his brother tightly them walked out of the room, when the door was closed behind him he turned around and pressed his ear against it.

"Sit!" his father said, he was trying to calm down.

"Sit down Four Way," his mother said, she was more in control of herself than his father at the time. "Lets talk."

Letting his legs fall over the edge of his bed, Four Way Shot pulled his head towards his father. He knew his mother's anger well, having seen it a few times over the years when someone had gotten on her nerves, his father was another story. He did his fighting away from him, he hid it from him so he didn't know how bad it could get. Lacing the fingers on his lower hands, he waited.

"Why'd you hit your sister Four Way?" his mother asked.

"She a-knee'd me," he said, swallowing hard. "I a-was on mah bed, lyin' in it, an' she done come in an' started jumpin' on it. She a-fell an' her knee done hit me down thar."

His mother paused for a few minutes and looked at his father, who had his back turned to them, he was looking out the window so he didn't know if he had heard what he had said. A few minutes went past then his mother patted his shoulder and gave him a hug, it showed him that he had her support and that she was trying to comfort him.

"You know," she said. "I have two sisters and a brother myself, I know how aggravating it can be at times."

"Ye do?" Four Way Shot squeaked.

"Yes," she laughed. "my younger sister, at times, would drive me so far up a wall that I had to fight to keep from hurting her. She was very annoying!"

"Mah half sister is ver annoyin'!" Four Way Shot exclaimed. "She's always a-gittin' me an' Arson in trouble when we ain't done nothin'!"

"Yeeeeaaaaah, you know my younger sister did that a lot too," his mother said, smiling down at him. "nothing you can really about that except, of course, telling us about it."

"Darlin'," Four Way Shot's father sighed.

"Six Shooter?" his mother said, turning her head to the side.

"Can I a-talk to mah son in private please?" he asked.

His mother looked at his father's back for a long time, it felt like forever before she pulled herself up from the bed. Before she left his room she patted both of his shoulders and kissed his cheek. When his father heard the door close he turned around. Four Way Shot had never felt so much guilt in his life, there was still a flicker of anger in his father's eyes, what he saw most was confusion and curiosity. His father walked towards him slowly and sat down beside him, he took his hat off and placed it down on the bed beside him.

"I kind o' understand why ye hit yer sister," his father told him. "I a-see ye is tellin' me the truth an' I believe that she a-knee'd ye."

"Ye do?" Four Way Shot exclaimed, he felt like jumping up from his bed and hugging his father.

"Yes," his father said. "son ye an' I both a-know it ain't right hittin' gals, even if they a-hurt us."

"But..."Four Way Shot sputtered. "she a-knee'd me an' I ain't a-gonna take that sittin' down."

"Shur ye can!" his father said, patting him on the shoulder. "Jus' grab yerself an' look up at her meanly, that will a-git yer point across."

"Ye shur?" Four Way Shot asked, pulling away a little.

"Shur will, I done did it to yer ma a few times." his father laughed.

His father pulled his head up and started laughing a little, Four Way Shot couldn't help himself, he pulled one of his arms up and punched his father in the stomach. He father looked at him from the side, still laughing a little inside. Not being able to control himself anymore, Four Way Shot jumped on his father and flattened him to the floor. His father allowed him to sit on him for only a minute before he pushed him off.

"Ye know," he said. "yer ma an' I a-was jus' talkin' 'bout me takin' ye to rope an' cut an' brand the cows."

"Ye was!" Four Way Shot jumped up excitedly and started clapping his hands. "Kin I come?"

"It's a-fine with me," his father said. "yer ma on the other hand may be a lil' problem though."

"I kin git her to say yes." Four Way Shot said.

"I bet ye can." his father replied, laughing a little. "Yer ma can be a lil' hard headed at times but she's a-got a good lil' heart in her."

Four Way Shot's eyes were bright and he was jumping higher than a jack rabbit when his father stood up. He rushed at his father and grabbed him in a big hug that made him step back a few. His father smiled warmly and smoothed his hand over his head, his hat had fallen off and was lying on the floor behind him, his grayish brown hair with some yellow mixed in shined in the light from the lamp. His father's hair had less yellow in it, but he definitely had a lot of him in him.

"Well, I guess I can see that ye got both yer ol' ma an' me in ye," his father was saying. "ye didn't git yer temper from me that's fer shur."

"Ye don't know that," Four Way Shot giggled.

"Shur I do," his father said, scratching his ear. "now lemee talk to ye 'bout that zeen ye done read a few hours ago."

Arson looked up from the floor and frowned, when Four Way Shot's mother had walked out of his room she had walked into him and had knocked him down. She had picked him up and had carried him downstairs, and in an event that had never happened before she had plopped him down on his father's lap. He had stayed still in his father's lap for a few seconds, stunned to death, then he had tried jumping down, and he found that very difficult to do. His father had wrapped his flamethrower around his waist and had held him tightly to him, at first he had thought he was being suffocated. When he had gotten off of his father's lap he had raced upstairs to his room and had gotten one of his CDs, since his portable wasn't working he was playing it on his system.

"Let's watch it burn. Let's watch it burn. Let's watch this city burn the world. Let's watch this city burn, from the sky lines on top of the world. Till there's nothing left of her. Let's watch this city burn the world. Watch things turn to ash, with two empty cans of gass. The only evidence they have is a sketch of my mask. And it's hard at times to ask if you can save my heart for last."

The CD was new, it had only been released a few weeks prior, since he had been afraid that his father would have said no he had asked one of the caretakers to go buy it for him. When the caretaker, a man by the name if Jeff, had handed him the CD he had rushed up to his room without thanking him. He was so enthused in the music that he didn't hear his father knock on his door, when his father opened his door he still didn't hear him.

"What the hell is that you are listening to?" his father growled.

"Dad!" Arson screamed.

"What's the band you are listening to?" his father asked again.

"Hollywood Undead," Arson said, swallowing a little. "it's a good band dad, loud!"

His father had changed his bedsheets after his brother had been carried off, he now had sheets with windblown fire stitched on them. His father knew a human that knew how to stitch fire and other things on sheets, the human's price was steep but he still had gotten the man to make four sheets for both of them. He was sitting on his bed, looking down at his son questionably.

"Is that so," his father said, thinking hard. "lets hear 'em, turn the CD off and start it over so that I can hear it."

Turned out to be the wrong thing to do, turning the CD off and letting his father hear it. His father's eyes flashed on and off a few times through the first few songs, they stayed on after the fifth song. Making a sound deep inside his chest, he stood up and walked towards his system and turned the CD off. The CD case was beside the system and he grabbed it, thinking his father was just putting the CD away, Arson didn't think nothing of it, that was until his father turned around with the CD held in between his thumb and index finger.

"This music," he said. "isn't for you."

"Huh?" Arson said, shocked. "What do you mean? It's loud isn't it?"

"Yeah and it has a lot of words in it that I don't want you to use." his father said, he was putting the CD in his jacket. "Ever!"

"I won't say them!" Arson yelled. "I promise, I won't say any of the words that they use on the CD!"

His father must not have heard him as he turned around and walked out of the room, his CD still in his jacket. Chasing his father down the hall and down the stairs, Arson tried tripping him up a few times. When that didn't work he tried jumping him. His father hunched his shoulders, he slipped right off. When his father reached the living room where his half siblings were, he stopped and turned around.

"I am sorry son," he said, trying to keep his cool. "I cannot let you have this CD. When you get older maybe, but now now."

"Dad!" Arson screamed. "I've listened to stuff...you've let me listen to songs with almost the exact same words in them before."

"Not anymore young man!" his father yelled. "Tunneler!"

His uncle slid off of the couch and threw his magazine on the table, he was wearing a green army shirt and green pants, a pair of dog tags around his neck and black shoes on his feet, on top of his head was an upside down cone, very sharp, coated in diamond dust. He walked forward slowly, his black eyes motionless, when he got to his father he turned towards him and patted him on the back.

"Take this and put it in Six Shooter's safe will ya," his father said, eying his son. "you know the combination?"

"Everyone but the kids knows the combination." his uncle said.

His uncle had a deep, gravely voice, when he grabbed the CD from his father's hand he winked at him and walked off. His uncle, Six Shooter, had a medium sized safe in his cellar that housed a lot of things that had been confiscated over the years. Everyone thought that he, his half siblings and Four Way Shot didn't know the combination to it, but his brother was a sneaky guy and had figured it out one day. A few of the things that had been in the safe were no longer in it.

"You..." he said angrily, almost not able to get the word out. "You are imposible!"

With an exasperated cry he ran up the stairs and into his brother, of whom had just gotten through talking to his father about the magazine that he had been reading before. Grabbing his arm he dragged him to his room and slammed the door. Four Way Shot's eyes grew wide when he turned, his red eyes with the yellow and orange star burst in the middle as bright as can be.

"He took my damn CD!" Arson screamed.

"Whut CD?" Four Way Shot asked.

"Hollywood Undead's Swan Songs," Arson replied, almost crying. "I was just listening to it for the first time."

"A-why did yer pa take it?" Four Way Shot asked.

"He said I'd say every word that was on the CD," Arson said.

"That's a-funny!" his brother laughed. "Ye listen to songs with cussin' in the leerics plenty o' times."

"That's what I said to him," Arson cried. "he still didn't believe me, he took the CD and he got uncle Tunny to put it in your father's safe."

"Mah pa an' I done got through a-talkin'." Four Way Shot exclaimed. "I kin git yer CD, an' a few other thangs."

Four Way Shot left his brother's room quickly, racing down the hall and taking each step on the stairs two at a time, he tripped on the last step and fell to his knees. Picking himself up, trying to not look suspicious, he walked into the living room. His half sister was the first member of his family he looked at, her cheek was still red and swollen, he could detect some purple blending in with the red. She had changed from her black dress with the purple on the top into a purple and red shirt and black pants, she wasn't wearing shoes. Turning his head away, he looked at his half brother, Loui. He was dressed in a green and light purple shirt, a pair of black pants and he wasn't wearing any shoes, his green blanket was tied around him like a cape. When he saw his older brother looking at him he smiled. His other half brother, Slash, was the next member of his family he looked at. Slash was wearing all black, black shirt with purple and red blood marks, black pants with red paint splotches and black shoes. He wasn't wearing his jacket with the red spider stitched in the back. His hair was combed back, the front and top spiked forward. He saw his uncle's, all of them, and his aunt, Slash's mother, Slasha and Loui's mother and his mother in the kitchen. He didn't see his father though, looking both way he walked slowly across the living room towards the door that led to his father's cellar.

"Someone's a-been drinkin' mah whiskey agin!" he heard.

He had been wrong, he had thought that all of his uncle's were in the kitchen, his father was walking up the stairs, in one of his hands was a bottle of Pendleton, behind him a few steps was Arson's father, it looked like he had a bottle of whine, or rum, in his hand. Pushing himself against the wall, he slowed his breathing and made not a sound. His father and uncle walked past, they hadn't seen him. When he knew they were far enough away he walked down the stairs into the cold and wet four wall room, in the far off wall, where no bottles hung, was a black safe. Smiling evilly he walked over to it. He had found the safe's combination by chance one day after breakfast, his father had picked three easy numbers. Smiling from ear to ear, he turned the dial right, to the first number.

"It's about time!" Arson exclaimed. "Was beginning to wonder if you had gotten caught."

"Nah, jus' grabbin' a few other thangs." Four Way Shot said.

unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled out the CD and gave it to his brother, he had had to hide the things he had gotten from his father's safe in his shirt and had ran upstairs. His brother quickly hid the CD, placing it in his pillow case. When he turned around he saw his brother take the magazine that he had been reading ealier out of his shirt, he also pulled out a knife and a lighter.

"I gots to git ready fer mah trip." he said.

"What trip?" Arson asked, surprised.

"Mah pa is a-takin' me with him to rope an' cut an' brand cows." his brother replied. "Mah ma done said it was okie dokie with her."

"When are you going?" Arson asked.

"In a few days." his brother said.

Arson was fighting tears, he felt like he couldn't be away from his brother for a day, he was that close to him. Rushing forward he grabbed his brother in a deep hug. His brother hugged him back and gently rubbed his head against his, comforting him. He handed his brother the lighter and winked, Arson turned his head from side to side, he knew his brother would need it more.

"No, you keep it." he said. "I'll miss you when you go."

"I'll a-miss ye." his brother said, smiling warmly.

"Please promise me," Arson sniffled. "that you'll come back in one piece."

"I a-promise." Four Way Shot laughed.

"Good," Arson whispered into his brother's shirt.

"Mah ma done made mah pa an' me promise to do the same." Four Way Shot said. "I a-promise that when I a-come back I'll have all o' mah arms an' legs intact."

"You better!" Arson exclaimed. "If you don't, I'll be out of a wrestling buddy."

His brother smiled warmly at him and squeezed his shoulder a little. When he left his room he felt tears well in his eyes. He didn't want his brother to go away, he wanted him to stay here. He was sure he'd be very bored without him, surely Slash and Loui wouldn't want to play games or mess around or put up with him like Four Way Shot did. Sitting down on his bed he pulled his hands up and covered his face.

"Get a grip," he said to himself. "it'll only be for a few weeks, he won't be gone long."

With that in mind, he reached in his dresser and pulled out a piece of paper. He intended to write to his father and apologise for what he had said and for stomping off, he also intended to apologise for pushing him. He was sure his father wasn't in the mood to talk to him. Looking out the window, looking at the full moon and the stars, he smiled. He and his father had had some hard times but he was trying. They weren't fighting all that much anymore. Turning to the paper, he started writing.


End file.
